


How To Disappear

by boxroepe



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Anxiety, Bipolar Disorder, Depression, Gen, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, LGBTQ Themes, Medication, Mental Health Issues, Mental Institutions, On Hiatus, Paranoia, Slow Burn, Suicide Attempt, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, it'll make sense don't worry, no update schedules we die like men, timeline is slightly altered
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-05
Updated: 2017-09-03
Packaged: 2018-12-11 08:53:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11711031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boxroepe/pseuds/boxroepe
Summary: Even if it turns out that they'd be saddened by his loss, there's no point in trying to pretend he's not easily forgotten. His mom is probably the only person who will be deeply, truly hurt by it, but she would eventually realise that he had done her a favour. She'd be happier if she had one less thing to worry about.So really, he doesn't even need to think twice about what he's decided to do.





	1. i

**Author's Note:**

> i got frustrated with how (unfortunately) poorly carried out the psych ward AU fics for this fandom are (a lot of them have notes that the author has never been in a psych ward, so this isn't very surprising) so i thought "hey, ive been to one, lemme try my hand at writing one!" and here we are.
> 
> this first chapter contains:  
> \- graphic description of a failed suicide attempt, as well as description of injuries caused by the aforementioned event  
> \- light swearing  
> \- suicidal ideation and spiraling thoughts
> 
> i think thats it, but comment if theres anything else you would like me to add. know your triggers, lovelies, and stay safe. <3

 

 

Evan Hansen has resigned himself to anonymity.

 

His mom, his therapist, and Jared are the only people he's spoken to regularly since middle school. He's almost positive that the only other person their age who even knows his name is Alana Beck, and she's talked  _at_ him more than she's talked  _to_ him.

 

Evan is never going to work up the courage to talk to Zoe Murphy. He's never going to have a friend who doesn't remind him frequently that their friendship is one of obligation -- even if it's "just a joke", even if he doesn't really mean it, he almost makes it a point to never make up for it.

 

And he knows that, even if those four people will know he's gone, even if by some strange turn of events it turns out that they'd be saddened by his loss, there's no point in trying to pretend he's not easily forgotten. His mom is probably the only person who will be deeply, truly hurt by it, but she would eventually realise that he had done her a favour. She'd not been able to say no to extra shifts in so long. She'd be happier if she had one less thing to worry about.

 

So really, he doesn't even need to think twice about what he's decided to do.

 

But he's Evan Hansen, and Evan Hansen never does anything without overthinking it until he's worked himself into an anxious mess.

 

So when he's sitting in the tree, high up enough that -- though he's never particularly minded heights -- his head is starting to spin, he's in tears.

 

He knows he's doing the right thing. He knows it won't even matter what happens to him, in the end. Hell, maybe someone would actually notice him; in the eighth grade, some kid had gotten into a car accident and died after being in a coma for a week and a half, and everyone suddenly loved and missed her as though she had been some big, irreplaceable part of their lives.

 

But he's so terrified.

 

He'd read an article online a while back, a set of interviews with suicide survivors, that had said that once you've decided to go through with it, this deep sense of calm takes root. Everything seems to come together, almost. But that's not how Evan feels. He's shaking, vision blurred because the tears  _just won't stop_ , even though he has a mantra going in his head, even though his thoughts are a loop of all the reasons that there's only one way he's going to get out of this tree.

 

He's trying to calm down even though he knows it's pointless, when some part of him just decides,  _fuck this_. And he leans forward, slowly, but it seems to go so fast that he doesn't even register he's done it until the ground is racing up to catch him and he blacks out.

 

 

 

And then, he comes to.

 

His right arm is numb and his brain is full of lead, it has to be because he's moving so slowly and he feels so heavy why can't he move his head is he dying? Is this what dying is actually like? Do you just feel yourself slow down and get heavy until your body just crumbles, just gives way to the pulling, and it collapses on itself and your soul sinks down down down into the earth?

 

But he can still feel the rest of him. And it  _hurts_.

 

When he fell, he hit a few branches, he's pretty sure. He can feel scrapes on his legs, from where he leaned out of the tree and the backs of his thighs dragged against the bark, and where his arm has lost most of its feeling, his shoulder and back hurt like nothing he's ever felt before.

 

And of course, that's when clarity slaps him in the face and takes hold, and Evan thinks, simultaneously,  _I can't believe it didn't work_ and  _thank god it didn't work_.

 

But now he's got a probably-broken arm, and his back is aching, and while his brain has jolted back into the breakneck speed it usually functions at, even just trying to shift a bit is so sluggish it almost makes him want to cry just out of frustration.

 

Someone will notice he's missing. Someone will come for him, and they'll find him, and then he doesn't know what he wants to happen but he'll worry about it when it does. He's just got to wait, and in a few minutes or so, somebody will show up.

 

Evan waits for about twenty minutes, and nobody comes.

 

* * *

 

 

His mom is at work, and he tries to tell his supervisor this, but the older woman insists that his mom needs to know, and she goes through the files until she finds Heidi Hansen's number. She calls but Heidi doesn't answer, so she leaves a voicemail; she explains what happened, says she's taking Evan to the hospital, and hangs up.

 

"You aren't a clumsy person, Evan," She says when they get to the hospital.

 

"I. Well, I j-ju-just slipped, is all, I was climbing and I didn't mean to get too high but I guess I did and then I wasn't really -- I was hanging on, y'know? I thought? But my fingers, my-my fingers slipped." He said. Muttered.

 

She doesn't seem to believe him, and for a moment he thinks she's figured it out, but she just purses her lips and says, "Let's go on in. No telling how long we'll be waiting."

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Yeah, Mom. Love you too."
> 
> And when she goes, leaving the door open behind her, Evan scoots further into the bed.
> 
> He feels so small.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter's a monster. it took me over an hour to write, bc i just couldnt seem to phrase things right? anyway.
> 
> this chapter contains:  
> \- a hospital visit  
> \- a mental health check-in  
> \- in-depth (and excruciatingly boring) description of the bhc intake process  
> \- the briefest mention of bodily fluids (blood and urine)  
> \- a vital sign check
> 
> and thats it. if theres anything else i forgot, let me know! know your triggers, and please stay safe. <3

 

 

It all goes by so fast.

 

His mom shows up not long after he gets back from being x-rayed, and she sits with him, tears in her eyes, while they set the bone, holding his uninjured hand when he gets his cast put on.

 

His thoughts are all static-y, and it's almost like his brain switched everything to autopilot; he's only drawn back from himself when his mom starts talking.

 

"This just isn't  _like_ you, sweetie," she says softly. "You're not accident prone, Evan, you never have been."

 

"Mo-Mom, I..." He was ready for this. He was ready to make an excuse, ready to explain that it was just a mistake, that he hadn't been paying attention is all, but she looked so worried, and so exhausted.

 

He just couldn't bring himself to lie to her.

 

The doctor comes back, almost as though the universe decided it owed Evan one, and his mother turns to him. But instead of addressing Heidi, he looks at Evan.

 

"I spoke to the woman who brought you, Evan -- she says that she's your supervisor? Is that correct?" When Evan nods, the balding man continues. "I spoke with her, and she said... Well, she told me that this is very out of character for you, and she's expressing concern."

 

Evan could feel the blood drain from his face. He swallowed.

 

"Evan," the man says, and he looks briefly at Heidi before turning back to her son. "You aren't in any trouble, all right? But I'm going to need you to answer a couple of questions -- just to make sure everything is okay."

 

Evan nods mutely, turning his gaze to the hem of his shirt as he picked at a loose string.

 

"Have you ever felt depressed, Evan?"

 

Evan inhales sharply, eyes darting upwards. His mom and the doctor are both looking at him expectantly.

 

"Yes, I, I have." He blurts, because he can't force the lie out when they're staring at him like that.

 

The doctor nods slowly and makes a note on whatever papers are on his clipboard, and Evan's mother's forehead creases with worry.

 

"All right. I have a couple more questions now, Evan." He looks up at Evan again.

 

"Have you ever had suicidal thoughts, or thoughts of hurting yourself?"

 

Evan takes a shaky breath and closes his eyes, feeling a couple of tears squeeze their way out. "Y... Ye-yes," he whispers. There's no point trying to hide it anymore. He's stuck. He's got no way out.

 

Heidi's hand comes up to cover her mouth, and her eyes are glassy.

 

"Have you ever harmed yourself, or planned to harm yourself?"

 

His shoulders shake. "I..."

 

The doctor has a sad, drawn look on his face; it's clear he knows what the answer is, even without Evan giving it, but he still looks at Evan, still needing an answer regardless of what he knows.

 

"You have to give me an answer, Evan. I know this is hard, but legally, I can't mark anything down unless you tell me explicitly."

 

Evan hiccups, tears sliding down his cheeks, and nods forcefully.

 

His mother gives a short, soft sob and reaches for his hand. "Oh,  _Evan_..."

 

"Evan," the doctor begins, before closing his mouth, and from the look on his face, Evan thinks he's searching for the right words, or maybe weighing whether or not he should say what he's thinking. "Have you ever attempted suicide?"

 

Evan feels something inside of him break, and suddenly he's sobbing openly, his whole body quaking with the force of them.

 

"I- M-mo-mom, I'm s- I'm s- I'm  _sorry_ , I'm s-so sorry," he whimpers, hiccuping again, and his mother draws him into her arms.

 

"Sweetie, it's all right, it's going to be all right."

 

"N-n, nno, i-it-it's not, I tried, I tried t-  _I tried t-to_ \--" he buries his face in her shoulder and whimpers. "I tried to d-die, Mom, I-I'm so-sorry--"

 

The doctor wrote something else down before stepping forward.

 

"I'm afraid we're going to have to place Evan under suicide watch," He shifted his clipboard so that it was under his left arm. "And then -- with your consent, Mrs Hansen -- we'll move him into the Behavioural Health Centre. Is that all right?"

 

Heidi pulled back from her son, lifting one hand to cup his face and wipe at his streaming tears with her thumb. "Is that okay, sweetheart?"

 

Evan nodded shakily, and leaned forward again to give his mother another hug.

 

The doctor stood silently for a moment before saying, "Visiting hours end in about half an hour, but I can let you stay a bit longer, if you'd like. Make sure you let one of the nurses know when you leave, Mrs Hansen, and Evan, please try and get some rest. We'll bring you something to eat in a bit, okay?" And with that, he left the room, giving Evan and his mother one more glance before he shuts the door and walks away.

 

 

 

Heidi and her son continue to hold onto each other for a good while, before she pulls away gently, hands on Evan's shoulders.

 

"Why didn't you tell me you felt like this?"

 

Evan gave a watery, trembling attempt at a smile. "I did-didn't want you to worry ab-about, about me..."

 

Heidi's eyebrows drew together. "Evan, I'm your  _mom_. It's my job to worry about you. It's my job to  _protect_ you," her lip wobbled, voice breaking.

 

Sniffing hard, Evan rubbed at his eyes with the heel of his palm. "You, you do pr-protect me, you try your b-best. I'm sorry Mom, I l-lo-- I love, I love you."

 

"I love you too, sweetie. I love you so, so much."

 

They didn't speak much for the rest of his mom's visit. Once they had both finished crying, Heidi leaned up and kissed her son on the forehead, telling him she loved him again. Then they just held each other for a while, before Heidi gasped and held her son at arm's length again.

 

"Oh, sweetheart, you're going to miss the first day of school!"

 

Oh. Right. Evan had completely forgotten that it was the last weekend of summer vacation. Though he hadn't been looking forward to the thought of the school year -- it always brought with it ever-increasing anxiety, both general and social, and it meant he (read: his mom, and the school guidance counselor) would have to talk to his teachers about his anxiety -- he felt a twinge of disappointment. It was his senior year; his last chance to talk to Zoe Murphy, his last chance to try and make friends before he started college, his last first day of high school.

 

"I'll talk to your teachers," his mom said, nodding to herself, though she was still looking at Evan. "I'll explain the situation -- not fully, but enough that they understand what's going on. And hey, maybe we can have them send along your schoolwork so you don't get behind?" Her brow furrowed. "I'm not really sure how it works in Behavioural Health," she admits. Evan understood; it wasn't the branch of the hospital that his mom worked in, and it was probably different from the hospital proper.

 

"Y-yeah," Evan says, clearing his throat. "That's, uhm, that's fine, mom. Sounds good."

 

"Okay," she says, giving his shoulders a squeeze.

 

Before they know it, a nurse is knocking lightly at the door, signaling that visiting hours have ended.

 

"Well," Heidi says, grabbing her bag and hoisting it up over her shoulder. "That's my cue."

 

"Bye, Mom," Evan says quietly, fidgeting with the edge of the sheet.

 

She presses another kiss to the top of his head and cups his face again. "I'll see you soon, all right? I love you, Evan."

 

"Yeah, Mom. Love you too."

 

And when she goes, leaving the door open behind her, Evan scoots further into the bed.

 

He feels so small.

 

* * *

 

 

The twenty-four hours of suicide watch go by both agonisingly slow and remarkably fast.

 

It's a full day of lying in bed, eating hospital food (which, contrary to popular belief, isn't really all that bad) and watching TV, being checked on every hour or so by nurses.

 

His mom visits during her lunch break, but she can't stay for very long, because they call her back after about twenty minutes. Evan recalls, vaguely, one of the nurses mentioning when he was brought in that they were short staffed, and his mom leaves him with another kiss on the forehead and a promise that she would visit him later.

 

Before dinner at the end of the day, a tall nurse in burgundy scrubs that Evan hadn't seen before knocks lightly on the open door, looking at a clipboard in his hand.

 

"Evan Hansen?"

 

"Ye-y-yes, that, that's me," he says, nervously, pushing his blankets off and swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

 

The nurse looks up and smiles. "Hi, Evan. I'm Markus. I'm gonna be escorting you while you're moved to the BHC."

 

Evan swallows and nods. "Okay."

 

Markus asks Evan to follow him, and he leads the way to an elevator near the service desk.

 

"We're gonna have to go down to the garage so that someone can drive us around to the entrance, all right?"

 

Evan nods again, and Markus pushes a button labeled with a  'G', typed in bold.

 

 

 

Evan's brain switches into that strange, semi-conscious autopilot again, and the only thing that breaks that odd state is the slam of the car door as Markus gets out, walking around to get Evan's door. (It could only be opened from the outside. He tries not to think about any reasons why that might be.)

 

Markus led him to the door and pressed a button, leaning forward a bit.

 

"Got a patient being transferred from ICU, just finished his twenty-four hours."

 

Markus takes his finger off of the button, and the speaker above it crackles.

 

" _Bring 'im in_ ," Says a voice, and there was a buzzing sound before Markus pulled the door open.

 

Walking into the waiting area, Evan notices a man sitting behind a set of Dutch doors, the bottom of which was closed. He's sitting in a swivel chair, watching a security monitor with a bored look on his face.

 

Markus has Evan sit down in one of the chairs, which lets out a whoosh of air as he sat. He turns bright red at the sound and mutters an apology, but Markus just smiles at him, so Evan pretended to have found something very interesting on the tile floor below him, trying to will the burn in his face to fade.

 

Before long, another nurse appears in a doorway at the end of the room, and beckons Markus and Evan toward him.

 

"This Evan Hansen?" He asks as the two approach, and Markus nods. "We're takin' him to get his vitals, put him through intake, and then we're gonna move him to Access." He opened the door a little wider, letting the other two past him and gesturing to a room right around the corner from the door. "This way, please, Mr Hansen."

 

Markus points Evan to the chair situated towards the corner, saying, "If you would, Evan, you're gonna have to remove your shoes. No shoes with laces on the unit."

 

They takes Evan's blood pressure and pulse, the taller nurse remarking that both Evan's blood pressure and his pulse are elevated. Markus makes note of Evan's belongings, and then gets a hospital wristband to put on him.

 

"Well, we're done with vitals, Evan," Markus says, "And in a couple minutes, someone is gonna come and do your intake. That sound good?"

 

The idea of talking to _more_ people, answering _more_ questions, makes Evan's stomach churn, but he nods anyway. Markus gives him another smile before he and the other nurse leave.

 

True to Markus' word, two more people enter the room not long after the nurses have gone, sitting in the chair across from Evan's.

 

"Hiya, Evan. We're here to ask you a few questions."

 

It turns out that the two people -- a young woman with a spiky pixie cut and a man with a long, dark braid -- are asking him more or less the same questions Evan had been asked in the ICU, though after those are through the man starts to ask more in-depth questions. Evan tries his best to give honest answers, elaborating when asked, though a couple of times he has to stop to calm himself down. Then, the man looks over at the young woman (who had been typing on a computer while the man asked questions), and when she nods, the man turns back to Evan, giving his hands a little clap and saying, "All right! We're done."

 

The two stand up as the man continues. "We're going to go discuss with the doctor, and then either Markus or Gary are gonna come back and take you to a room while you wait, 'kay?"

 

He doesn't wait for Evan to answer before he leaves, and the tall nurse from before -- Gary -- appears once again.

 

"C'mon, Mr Evan," he says gently, and Evan follows him down a hallway.

 

 

 

Evan is brought to an open door, and Gary tells him to go ahead and take the bed on the far side of the room.

 

"Someone is gonna come by to take some samples from you, Evan -- blood and urine -- and then once everything is processed we'll take you upstairs, yeah?"

 

Evan nods, and Gary says, "Would you like a magazine or anything to drink while you wait?" Evan declines, and the nurse leaves.

 

There are two beds in the room: the one Evan's sitting on, which is by a large, barred, frosted-glass window, under which there's an oblong grey air conditioner, a little panel flipped up to reveal the controls. The other bed is about four feet away, lined up with Evan's, and it's next to a pair of narrow doors without knobs.

 

Around the corner from the doors, on that same wall, is a little alcove that contains a sink, with little press-in buttons instead of proper handles. Just next to that is a small bathroom, which has a toilet, a shower, and a sink.

 

Evan wonders, briefly, why the room he's only supposed to be waiting in is so much like the room he's probably going to be in, but then he realises that he has no idea how long he's going to be waiting. That thought makes his stomach twist uncomfortably. He's not sure he can handle being alone with his thoughts for very long, especially when he's just sitting here, anticipating the next step of the process without knowing when it'll happen, or how long it'll take.

 

 

What a nightmare.


	3. iii

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He props his arm on the table the way she instructed, and she ties a thick strip of rubber around his upper arm, bringing a cotton ball with antiseptic over and cleaning the skin just below the fold of his elbow.
> 
> “Take a deep breath for me. And relax, hon, you won’t feel a thing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're making progress, folks! lol.  
> this chapter contains:  
> \- graphic description of having blood drawn  
> \- physical examinations  
> \- references to anxiety  
> \- spiraling thoughts  
> \- mentions of food  
> \- medication (specifically painkillers)  
> \- in-depth description of a mental health facility  
> if there's anything i forgot, let me know so i can add it to the list! know your triggers and stay safe. <3

 

 

Evan isn’t sure how long it takes -- not long, probably, but it feels longer than it is because he has no way of knowing -- but eventually, another nurse comes in and gives Evan a little cup, telling him she’s going to need a urine sample, and that she would be back in a few minutes to take it and take him across the hall to get blood drawn.

 

Evan does as he’s told, somewhat embarrassed at the situation, and when the nurse comes back, she takes the cup, placing one gloved hand over the top and letting the other hold the bottom.

 

“Right this way, honey.”

 

The room is, as she had said, right across the hall. In it, there’s a bench not unlike the ones you see in a regular doctor’s office, but it’s more like a glorified chair. It’s raised off the ground, so Evan has to step on a small step-stool that was placed in front of it, but he has no trouble getting up.

 

The nurse checks his wristband (“To make sure you’re you, which is stupid, I know, but we gotta do it,” she explains) and puts the cup in her hands on the counter to Evan’s right, and then pushes a table on wheels up so that he’s boxed in, maneuvering it with some difficulty, because the room was barely big enough for the table to fit.

 

“This room is just too small for all this _stuff_ ,” she mutters, and Evan nods even though she was mostly talking to herself. “Make a fist for me, sweetie. Right hand. And put it under your left elbow.” Then, she seems to notice his cast, and she frowns. “Might be a bit difficult with that, but I don’t think there’s anything in here we can use instead. Sorry, Evan.”

 

“It’s, um, i-it’s all right,” he says quietly. He props his arm on the table the way she instructed, and she ties a thick strip of rubber around his upper arm, bringing a cotton ball with antiseptic over and cleaning the skin just below the fold of his elbow.

 

“Are you squeamish?” Evan hesitates before nodding, biting his lip. “You’re gonna wanna look away then. Don’t worry, it’ll be over before you know it, and I’ll bring you a glass of juice after.” She gives him a reassuring smile, and it reminds him of his mom. His throat tightens.

 

“Take a deep breath for me. And relax, hon, you won’t feel a thing.” He does so, turning his head away and closing his eyes. As she said, he barely feels it when she puts in the needle, and the tension in his shoulders loosens.

 

“All right, just one more and then we’re through.”

 

When she’s done, she puts a cotton ball over the place where the needle was, telling him to hold it in place for a moment, before she puts a piece of clear medical tape over it.

 

“And we’re done!” She says. “Do you want me to get you something to drink? Juice maybe?”

 

“Y-yes, uh, yes ma’am. Thank you.”

 

“No problem, hon. Stay here; I’ll be right back.” With that, she takes off her gloves, grabbing another pair from the box on the door as she leaves.

 

Evan swallows thickly, staring at the grain in the wood of the table. Where he is, what he did... it’s finally starting to catch up with him.

 

 _I screwed up_ , he thinks. _I screwed up so badly. I couldn’t even die right. I’m such a failure._

 

Tears start to well up in his eyes, and he squeezes his eyes shut.

 

“All righty, Evan,” the nurse says as she walks back in, before pausing. “You okay, sweetheart?”

 

Evan sniffs and opens his eyes, staring at the tabletop again, and nods minutely.

 

The nurse gives him a somewhat sad smile, and Evan feels guilty that he’s made her feel bad.

 

“I’m sorry, hon. It’s not much, but, here you are,” she puts a plastic cup full of apple juice on the table in front of him. “Hope apple is okay -- I couldn’t find anything else.”

 

“I-it’s fine.” And it was; Evan is actually pretty fond of apple juice. “Th-tha, thank, thank you, ma’am.”

 

She smiles and tells him it’s nothing. Then she seems to remember something, and she turns to the counter, pulling a blue plastic clipboard from the counter, just barely obscured by the bench. Chair. Thing.

 

“I have to take notes about your physical health,” she says, clicking a pen and jotting something down. “Do you have any cuts, bruises, or abrasions?”

 

Evan tells her about the small cuts on his legs, but other than that, he doesn’t have any that he knows of.

 

“Any other injuries?”

 

He glances at his cast, and she chuckles a bit. “Right. Dunno how I forgot about that.” She writes ‘cast - broken arm’ in neat, even letters over the right arm of a figure printed on the page. “Do you need anything for that, by the way? I can’t give it to you now, but once you’re upstairs I can let one of the techs know.”

 

“I-I, some, uh, some ibuprofen? If that’s, if I can ha-have that.”

 

She nods.

 

“Okay then, Evan, last thing: I need to know what all you’re wearing.”

 

The nurse makes note of his t-shirt, jeans, socks, and underwear -- she apologises for that last, saying that she doesn’t even know why they have to ask about it, but Evan understands. It’s her job, and she’s got to do what she’s told.

 

When everything was done, the nurse ushered him back to the room he was in before, saying that she would see about getting him something to eat before he was moved.

 

Unsure what he was supposed to do to pass the time, Evan sat, perched on the edge of the bed, picking at the hem of his shirt before moving his hand up to pull on the fabric itself, rubbing it between his fingers. ‘Biofeedback’, Dr Sherman had called it. Evan just called it a tic.

  
  


It had long since grown dark outside by the time the nurse came back with a Styrofoam box -- the kind people use in restaurants as take-out containers for their leftovers -- that had food Evan assumed was from the cafeteria.

 

“Sorry for the wait, Evan. Eat up; you’re gonna be moved shortly, and by the time you get up to the unit it’ll be lights out.”

 

Opening the box carefully, Evan finds that it contains chicken, green beans, and a bread roll. He doesn’t have much of an appetite, but he ate as much as he could handle before placing the plastic dinnerware on top of what remained and shutting the box, sipping at the apple juice from earlier.

 

Evan gets up to use the bathroom, and when he comes back, he stares at the box, still sitting on the bed.

 

He isn’t sure what he’s supposed to do with it. Does he put it in the small trash can against the wall? Should he wait for someone to come and collect him before he tosses it, just to make sure someone knows he threw it away? What if he throws it away and he isn’t supposed to and people get mad at him and then he ends up in trouble before he’s even officially been admitted?

 

He walks back over to the bed and sits down slowly, still looking at the container, still unsure and kind of panicking a little bit.

 

Someone knocks on the open door to the room. He can’t see who it is at first, as the side of the wall that has the alcove-sink blocks his view, but then the same nurse from before steps forward and says, “Evan? Did you finish eating?”

 

He looks up at her and nods, perhaps a little too vigorously, and glances at the container again, feeling anxiety still swirling in his gut.

 

“Go ahead and toss the container in the bin. We’re gonna go upstairs, okay?”

 

He nods again, relieved at having been told what to do, and stands.

  
  


The nurse leads him down a hallway, taking a couple of turns, before holding the badge hanging on a lanyard around her neck up to a scanner and opening a door.

 

A door which leads to an outside hallway.

 

Evan he notices a staggeringly tall fence off to the left, the top of which is at a forty-five degree angle, effectively preventing it from being climbed.

 

Ah. That... makes sense. But it’s also a little intimidating, Evan can’t help but think. After all, why would someone want to get out of this place so badly that they might try to climb a forty-foot fence to do it? Was the -- what had Markus called it? BHC, he’s pretty sure, Behavioural Health Centre -- was the BHC so horrible that people were _that_ desperate to escape?

 

He almost bumps into the nurse when she stops walking to open another door, and then she holds it for Evan to walk past her.

 

“We’re headed for the elevator -- down the next hallway and to the left.”

 

When they arrive at the elevator, the nurse presses the call button, indicating that they’re going up. It arrives quickly, which Evan counts as a blessing, since waiting for the elevator in silence would probably make him feel even more on edge than he already was.

 

The woman presses the button labeled with a white ‘2’, and then mashes the ‘close doors’ button.

 

“Are you worried, sweetie?” She asks, and Evan jumps at the suddenness of her words.

 

“I uh,” he doesn’t know that he’ll be able to get the words out, so he just nods shyly. “...A, a little. A little bit.”

 

She gives that reassuring smile from before, and Evan feels his heart give a painful little squeeze as he’s once again reminded of his mother.

 

“It’s okay to be scared your first time. But, really, there’s nothing to be worried about. I know you’ve probably heard lots of awful stories about places like this, but I promise it isn’t as bad as people seem to think.” The elevator doors open, and she nods her head, indicating that Evan should step out ahead of her, before she continues. “Nobody here is going to hurt you, or push you to do anything you feel uncomfortable with. We’re all here to make sure you’re safe, and to make sure you get the help you need. Okay?”

 

She leads him down yet another hallway, through a set of open double doors. They pass by a closed-off section with a sign posted in the window that says in large letters, ‘UNIT 3: ADULT UNIT’. Underneath are two more signs, a white one that says ‘No minors permitted on this unit’ and a yellow one that says ‘HIGH ELOPEMENT RISK’ in bold, and ‘Unit under video surveillance’.

 

Evan swallows, his mouth going dry.

 

“Take a right, here, Evan, and then a left at the next corner.”

 

He makes the turns, as instructed, and comes to yet another door, behind which is another closed section, similar to the one they’d passed earlier, but this one is marked as ‘Unit 2: Adolescent Unit’. There’s another yellow sign about video surveillance, but there’s nothing about “elopement risk”.

 

The nurse moves forward and lifts her badge to the door scanner. There’s a buzz before she opens the door, once again gesturing for Evan to go ahead.

 

The two of them enter into a small area that looks very similar to a regular hospital wing -- there’s a short hallway, which stops at a corner on the left while the right side continues until it meets the wall on the far side of the open room. Around the corner on the left, there’s a counter, behind which is a service desk-type setup, with another nurse in powder blue scrubs instead of burgundy, sitting at one of two desktop computers on the desk space.

 

There are doors lining the walls, each with a little wall plaque labeling the rooms behind. Most of them are numbered, but there are a few exceptions -- ‘day-room one’, ‘tub room’, things like that. There’s a shallow alcove in the wall on the left that houses a water fountain.

 

The nurse who had brought him nudged him along. “Go on, hon. You’re gonna get your vital signs checked right quick and then you’ll be assigned to a room.”

 

“O-okay.”

 

The nurse doesn’t leave him, as he had feared she would, which comes as a small relief; she’s the only one he’s already met, and anxiety was starting to bubble in his stomach again.

 

She points to the chair that’s situated right at the corner of the wall next to the same machine that had been used to take his vitals downstairs. He sits, and she picks up the cuff to take his blood pressure, pushing his sleeve up a bit and wrapping the cuff around his right bicep carefully to avoid jostling his arm too much. As soon as she’s started up the machine, she takes the little sensor clip they used to get his pulse and puts it on his index finger.

 

He sits silently, trying to breathe quietly, as he waits. The machine beeps, and the nurse takes the sensor and the cuff off, writing down the results. For the second time since he got to the BHC, there was a remark about how high his blood pressure and heart rate were.

 

“Nancy,” the nurse says, grabbing the attention of an older woman sitting behind the desk.

 

“Hey, Linda. Is that...” The woman glances at something on her screen. “Evan Hansen?”

 

“Sure is,” says the nurse, whose name Evan now knows is Linda, with a smile. “What room is he gonna be in?”

 

Nancy looks at her screen again, humming to herself. “Room six. Bed closest to the window.” She looks back at Evan with a smile. “You’re lucky, Mr Hansen. The windows in a couple of the rooms just got replaced, and six is one of ‘em. You get a room with a view.”

 

Evan gives her a shaky attempt at a smile. “Thank, thank you.”

 

Nancy points to the room -- which is around another bend, through a doorway that doesn’t have a door -- and turns back to her computer. Before she can do anything, though, Linda says, “Nan, can you get some ibuprofen for Evan? He’s got a broken arm and was wondering if he could have anything for it.”

 

Evan fidgets with the end of his shirt, feeling, unsurprisingly, like a burden, but Nancy smiles.

 

“Of course.” She pushes her chair back from the desk and walks over to the far end of the desk to a strange looking machine that is, presumably, where the medication is kept. “Come on around to the counter, Evan, so I can scan your wristband.”

 

Evan glances back at Linda and she nods, so he walks over carefully, suddenly paranoid that he might slip on the tile floor.

 

Nancy presses a couple of buttons on the machine and turns a key, and a little tray pops out.

 

“Let’s see… Ibuprofen is in cell number…” She furrows her brow before going, ‘ _aha!_ ’, pulls out a couple of pills, putting them in a tiny white cup. She looks at Evan expectantly. “Wristband?”

 

“Oh, oh right, y-yes, yes ma’am,” he says, before holding out his left arm to her. Nancy twists the band a bit and then lifts the scanner -- which looks exactly like the price scanner they use in stores -- and holds it over his wrist until it beeps.

 

Nancy smiles. “What would you like to drink, Evan? We have Powerade, if you like that -- blue and orange, I think -- or you can get water.”

 

“U-uh,” Evan pinches his shirt between his fingers. “I, I don’t. I don’t mind? Really?” He doesn’t mean for it to come out as a question, and he doesn’t mean for his voice to shake the way it does.

 

Nancy must see how nervous he is, because she smiles again and says, “I’ll grab you a bottle of water from the back. Just a moment,” and she turns to the door just behind her, putting in a key and jiggling it before pushing the door open, grunting softly. The door must be heavy, Evan thinks. It also must lock when it closes, because Nancy props the door on her foot and leans to reach for one of the clear plastic bottles that Evan can see are grouped on one of the shelves.

 

When Nancy comes back, letting go of the door, Evan winces preemptively, prepared for it to slam, but she catches it on her elbow at the last second, letting it close gently.

 

She pulls a Styrofoam cup from behind the counter and opens the water, pouring a good amount into the cup, before pushing it and the tiny paper cup with the pills over to Evan.

 

“Here you go, Mr Hansen. You have to take medication in front of the RN's on duty -- right now, it's just me -- when they give it to you, but after that I can pour you some more water and you can take the cup to your room. Got it?”

 

Evan nods, pulling the cups toward him.

 

After he takes the painkillers and hands the paper cup back to Nancy, Linda steps around to face him.

 

“Here are some papers for you to look at. You don’t have to go over them all right now -- in fact you really shouldn’t, since it’s lights-out -- but I do recommend you look over them.”

 

She moves to stand next to him and leafs through the pages, explaining what each one was; patient rights, the rules of the unit, an explanation of the point system that they used, a schedule, a list of things considered contraband. There are a couple of things he has to sign (and he does, shakily scrawling his signature with his left hand) and then Linda hands all of the papers to him.

 

“All righty, then. Let’s head on over to your room now and get you settled in.”

  
  


Once they’re in his room, Linda walks to the far side of the room.

 

“This is your bed, here,” she says, pointing. “And this is your desk. You can put the papers I gave you on the desk for now. Under the window -- by the way, if you want to, feel free to open or close the curtains any time -- is the air conditioner, which you can adjust as much as you like.” She moves to stand between the two beds now, letting Evan shuffle the papers and arrange them at the right hand corner of the desk in a neat stack. He stands nervously next to the bed, looking at Linda and awaiting further instruction.

 

“You’ve got to keep your belongings on your side of the room, and please only use the one bed.” She turns a bit, glancing at the narrow doors on the wall behind her, and then nods to them. “Those are closets. Yours is the one on the left. Someone will come and unlock it in the morning.” She pauses. “Your mom is going to visit during visiting hours tomorrow, and she said she’s going to bring you some clean clothes. Oh, and before I forget, would you like some non-slip socks?”

 

Evan chews his bottom lip and nods. “Thank, thank you.”

 

She smiles at him. “No problem, Evan. Go ahead and go to bed now, okay? Let Miss Nancy at the desk know if you need anything.” She turns to leave, turning off the overhead light and leaving on a light that shines out of a small vent-looking thing, which is low on the wall between the desks. “One more thing: when you’re in your room, you have to leave the door cracked open.” She smiles apologetically. “Sorry.”

 

“It’s okay,” Evan says softly, before Linda exits, pulling the door until it’s about half shut.

 

Evan stripped his jeans off and folded them, placing them at the foot of the impeccably made bed. He pulled back the sheets and shuffled under them, laying down on the (admittedly, very flat) pillow and curling up, his right arm tucked close to his chest.

 

He can’t tell how long it takes him to fall asleep, but it feel like hours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ughhhhhh the chapters keep getting longer,, im sorry for spamming you guys with updates but im chasing my muse before i run headlong into a brick wall,,,,
> 
> at least we made a little more progress in this one, ha.
> 
> sorry that it's still moving so slowly, but i can't stop myself sometimes when im in the groove, and i get carried away with imagery...
> 
> anyway! see you guys in the next chapter (which im gonna start on as soon as this one gets posted). <3


	4. iv

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There’s an orange plastic crate sitting on the counter, and Evan’s name is on a card that’s been taped to the front of it. He grabs it; it’s got a small tube of toothpaste, a toothbrush in a plastic sleeve, two small bottles of soap, and a comb, packaged the same way as the toothbrush.
> 
> He reaches for the folded towels and washcloths stacked next to where the crate had been sitting, but as he does so, he remembers his cast.
> 
> That complicates things a bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know it's probably frustrating that connor still hasn't shown up and i promise you that he will BUT, for now, we have a different character joining the ranks. plsdontkillme  
> this chapter contains:  
> \- food  
> \- description of an event that led to a major injury  
> \- spiraling thoughts  
> \- anxiety  
> \- implications of OCD/descriptions of compulsions (though it doesnt actually say thats what they are)  
> \- negative self-talk  
> if i missed anything, let me know! know your triggers, and stay safe <3

 

 

Evan is jolted awake when there’s a knock on his door, and someone says his name. For a moment, he has no idea where he is -- but then the haze breaks, and he recognises the room. His heart sinks as the events of the past few days come rushing back.

 

He sits up, wincing hard when it sends a shock through his arm.

 

“Time to get up, Mr Hansen. Your care box is at the desk on the counter -- if you wanna shower, brush your teeth, whatever, now is the time.” The nurse, a man in the burgundy scrubs that are becoming familiar at a surprising rate, nods at him when he sees that Evan is up. “Breakfast is at eight, so you have about an hour.” Then he leaves, and Evan is alone.

 

He stretches and stands up, pulling on his pants and then the fresh pair of blue socks that are sitting on top of the ones he had been wearing.

  
  
  


There’s an orange plastic crate sitting on the counter, and Evan’s name is on a card that’s been taped to the front of it. He grabs it; it’s got a small tube of toothpaste, a toothbrush in a plastic sleeve, two small bottles of soap, and a comb, packaged the same way as the toothbrush.

 

Thinking about taking a shower, Evan reaches for the folded towels and washcloths stacked next to where the crate had been sitting, but as he does so he remembers the cast.

 

_ That complicates things a bit _ …

 

He looks around anxiously and notices that the nurse from last night -- Nancy -- is still here. Her shift hasn’t ended yet.

 

Taking a deep breath, Evan approaches the desk.

 

“E-excuse, uh, excuse me? I need-- I was wondering if you, if you could help me?”

 

Nancy looks up and smiles. “Sure. What’cha need?”

 

Evan swallows, eyes darting to the side. “I u-um, I was going to take a shower? But then I-- I just remembered that I have a cast? A-and I can’t really, y’know, I can’t take a shower unless I put something on it because I can’t get my case wet and I was wondering if you maybe, if you kn-knew what I should do or if you know who I should talk to? I’msosorryforbotheringyoubut I didn’t… Know what to do...”

 

Nancy shakes her head. “No, don’t worry, dear, it’s no trouble. I can go see if we have anything to wrap it with.”

 

Evan lets out a breath he didn’t realise he had been holding, feeling his face redden with embarrassment. “Thank you,” he says softly as Nancy starts looking around.

 

A few minutes later, Nancy finds some Saran Wrap that she brings over.

 

“Hold out your arm, please, Evan.”

 

Once his arm has been wrapped and Nancy has secured it, she smiles. “All set.”

 

Thanking her again, Evan takes the items he’d procured and heads back to his room, going into the bathroom.

  
  
  


Once he’s showered and put his clothes back on (with some difficulty, due to the clunkiness of the cast on his arm), Evan brushes his teeth and combs his hair. All in all, it makes him feel marginally better -- it surprises him a bit, but it does make sense. Being clean is a pretty nice feeling. He picks at the Saran Wrap a bit until a corner comes away, and he unwraps his cast, relieved to find that the cast is completely dry.

 

Peering out of the door, Evan squints at the clock behind the front desk.  _ Seven forty-nine _ . He still has plenty of time until breakfast.

 

As though he hears this thought, the male nurse from earlier that morning strides up to Evan, handing him a folder.

 

“W-what’s…?”

 

“Psych testing,” the nurse says, by way of explanation. “Since it’s your first time, you gotta fill it out, so that that the doctor knows more about your condition.”

 

“Oh,” Evan says lamely.

 

“Name’s Eric, by the way. I’m working the day shift, and I’ll be here all week, so depending on how long your stay lasts, I’ll probably be here for the duration.” Eric pulls a small, dull pencil from the pocket of his scrubs and holds it out. “You can get started on the tests while you wait for breakfast, but make sure you leave the pencil in plain sight. Pencils that get brought to rooms get collected during room checks.”

 

Evan’s thrown a bit by all of this information -- he met so many new people in the past two days and he realises he’ll probably meet more. He’s afraid he won’t be able to remember all of their names.

 

Not knowing what to say, Evan nods dumbly, taking the pencil. Eric nods back and leaves.

 

Sighing, Evan walks over to his desk, dropping the folder onto it and pulling out the chair.

 

Written across the folder is Evan’s name. Under that, it reads “ _ M, teen, 13-17 _ ”.

 

Opening the folder, he finds several packets labeled as ‘psych. testing’, and he groans inwardly as he sees how many questions there are in each one -- not to mention how many there are in total.

 

Outwardly, though, he sighs, pulling out the least dense of the questionnaires and holding the pencil awkwardly in his left hand. The one he pulls is a single sheet, and looking over it, Evan realises that it’s a list of statements, each with at least one blank that he’s meant to fill in. He frowns. It’s going to take a bit for him to do this, seeing as he was writing with his non dominant hand, and he also wanted to try and write as neatly and legibly as possible.

 

Sighing again, he leans down and gets to work.

  
  
  


Eric is back soon enough, knocking on the door again and saying, “Breakfast in the day-room,” before leaving.

 

Evan puts his pencil down and stands, rubbing his neck.

 

Heading out of his room and back through the doorless doorway, Evan sees that the day-room is the one almost right on the corner of the wall Evan’s door is on.

 

The door to the day-room is open, and once Evan enters, he sees that there’s a large silver cart pushed to the back of the room, which is where breakfast is being served. In front of that is a large wooden table with chairs all the way around it. The table has been set -- there’s a plate, napkin, and plastic dinnerware at each chair, along with a carton of milk, and small container labeled as orange juice, salt and pepper, single-servings of grape jam and butter, and even some of the little plastic bowls of cereal like they have for breakfast at schools.

 

Evan blinks. He isn’t sure what he expected, but it wasn’t this.

 

He also certainly did not expect to see Alana Beck standing in line at one end of the silver cart, plate in her hand.

 

Swallowing and figuring he might as well follow her lead, he grabs a plate from one of the unoccupied spaces at the table -- there are two other, younger-looking kids sitting there that he doesn’t recognise, and he takes his plate from the opposite end of the table, avoiding making eye contact -- and walks up to stand behind Alana, who is wearing a sweatshirt with the drawstring pulled out and a pair of baggy shorts.

 

It’s strange, looking at Alana. She doesn’t seem like herself. Her braids are out of the long ponytail she usually wears them in so that they hang down her back, and it’s odd to see her not wearing a patterned sundress or skirt. 

 

Strangest of all, though, she looks  _ tired _ . It’s like her energy has been drained away. He can make out dark circles under her eyes, partially obscured by her glasses. It’s a little… Unnerving.

 

Evan shakes his head, realising that while he had been lost in thought, Alana had gotten her food and gone to sit down at the table, where she was eating quietly.

 

The person attending the cart, dressed in those burgundy scrubs and sporting a hairnet and gloves, looks at Evan with one brow raised, waiting patiently for him to speak.

 

Evan stammers, looking frantically at the options he was presented with and trying not to panic. 

 

“I- I’m- could, can I h-have some eggs and toast please? B-but, no, no b-bacon or sausage sorryI’mJewish.”

 

The attendant holds a hand out to take Evan’s plate.

 

Evan mentally berates himself for not being able to ask for breakfast without almost having an anxiety attack, and when his plate is returned to him, now loaded up with food, he starts to regret getting anything to eat at all. Nevertheless, he walks back to the table, taking a seat at the spot he got his plate from.

 

Which just so happened to be right across from Alana.

 

When he sits down, Alana freezes with her fork halfway to her mouth, slowly putting it down and looking at him strangely, as though she can’t quite believe that he’s there.

 

“ _ Evan _ ?” She says softly, tilting her head and furrowing her brow.

 

Evan ducks his head, feeling heat crawling up his neck.

 

“Yeah that’s, uh, that sure is. Sure is my name,” he mumbles, looking down at his plate.  _ Of course you have to say something stupid. Of fucking course. You’re hopeless. _

 

Wincing a bit at his thoughts, Evan picks up his spoon and starts breaking up his eggs.

 

“...What happened to your arm?” Alana asks, her voice still quiet.

 

Evan glances at the two kids sitting at the end of the table, praying that they aren’t looking at him, and to his relief, they’re not. They’re talking to each other in between mouthfuls of cereal, not paying the other two occupants of the room any mind.

 

“W-we-- Ah, well, it’s, it’s kind of a funny story, hah, um. See, I was an apprentice park ranger over the summer and I uh, I know a lot about trees? So I spend a lot of time around them -- um, around the trees, a-and I was climbing one and I was-- I thought I was holding on tight enough, right? B-but it turns out I wasn’t and I climbed, um, climbed higher than I meant to and I wasn’t holding on tight enough right and I-I slipped and fell and.” His eyes flick up to look at Alana, who has that same baffled look on her face that she had when she first saw him. “And yeah. I broke, broke my arm…”

 

Alana sits there a moment, absorbing this knowledge. Evan feels his palms starting to get sweaty and busies himself with scooping eggs into his mouth.

 

“That story wasn’t funny at all,” she says after a moment.

 

Evan chuckles nervously -- which was even more awkward than usual since his mouth was closed and full of scrambled eggs -- swallowing his food and saying. “Uh, yeah, I. I know.”

 

Alana sighs a bit and then goes back to her food.

 

Evan bites his lip.  _ Way to go, nimrod. You made her uncomfortable. _ He eats the rest of his food in silence.

 

After breakfast -- once everyone has cleared their trash and any extra food was squared away -- is the first group of the day. Eric comes in a few minutes before it starts and sits in a chair against the wall.

 

“Okay, everyone, it’s time for community group,” he says, sitting down and crossing his legs. “Since we have someone new here with us, we’re gonna go over the rules of life on the unit before we talk about daily goals.” He looks at the four sitting at the table and gives them a smile. “Who wants to start?”

  
  
  


Evan is takes comfort in the fact that Alana brightens a bit when asked to explain some of the basic rules. It’s all very simple things -- no running, no yelling, no touching, no inappropriate language, always wear socks or shoes on the unit, and a few others -- but Alana recites them proudly, not missing a single one, and Eric nods approvingly when she finishes.

 

Eric also brings up the fact that, though there are people who knew each other from outside of the BHC in the unit, this place is to be treated like Las Vegas; what happens at BHC doesn’t leave.

 

Evan nodded, feeling a little more secure because of this. He wasn’t worried that Alana would tell someone he was there -- at least, not on purpose -- but she has a habit of rambling, and with that comes the possibility of blurting the first thing that comes to mind. At least if there was a rule about it, she would be more on herself to keep it a secret.

 

After all of the rules had been discussed, Eric announces that they should all introduce themselves, so that Evan could get to know them.

 

The first person to go was one of the kids sitting at the end of the table.

 

“I’m Nimh,” he says, blowing a lock of hair -- which was dyed bright blue -- out of his face.

 

The girl sitting beside Nimh sits up straight and waves, smiling widely. “Hello! I’m Litzy!” She tucks some of her frizzy black hair behind her ear. “That’s L-I-T-Z-Y, by the way.”

 

Alana nods her head and gives Evan the first smile he’s seen from her that morning.

 

“Alana,” she says. “But you already know me.”

 

The other three are staring at Evan who props his elbow on the table at an angle, bringing his right hand up to fiddle with the collar of his t-shirt.

 

“I’m, uh, my name’s E-Evan?” He tries to smile, but instead his lips twitch and refuse to cooperate, so he coughs and looks down before giving an awkward little wave. “...Hi.”

 

They segway into daily goals and talk about what they’re going to do that day, before Eric looks at the clock and says, “We’ve only got another minute and a half left of community group, so how about we just go ahead and start school early?”

  
  
  


School, Evan learns, is less stressful than he’d anticipated.

 

Eric tells him that since nobody has any actual schoolwork to do -- school was just starting that day, after all -- it was just time to spend working on psych testing, if you hadn’t completed it yet, or doing something else that was quiet. Eric also informs him that if they stay on task, they could end school early and they would extra leisure time, but Eric isn’t worried about that, since all four of the unit’s occupants are old enough to stay focused and behave themselves.

 

So Evan goes to his room and gets his psych testing folder, grabbing a pencil from one of the two baskets that someone had moved to the centre of the table.

 

He’s about halfway through one of the denser packets by the time school ends and he puts down the pencil with a sigh, clenching and unclenching his hand. It was starting to get sore -- not just because he had been writing for a while, but also because he didn’t really use his left hand for much.

 

“Does everybody want a snack?” Eric asks suddenly, and Evan jumps.

 

“W-wha…?”

 

Alana moves one of her braids away from her face. “It’s snack time. It’s optional, so if you don’t want one, you don’t have to get one, but I strongly recommend against skipping it. Lunch isn’t until twelve forty-five.”

 

“Uh,” Evan looks at Eric. “Can-- is it okay if, uh…” He ducks his head. “CanIjustgetsomethingtodrinkplease?”

 

“Sure,” Eric says. “Everybody come on down to the pantry; let’s go see what we have.”

  
  
  


The “pantry” is actually one of the rooms on the right side of the hallway. It’s a pretty small room, containing only a small refrigerator and a counter, with a row of cabinets above and below it, that has a microwave sitting on the far right corner and some plastic bins that contain assorted tableware on the end closest to the door.

 

The door is heavy and locks automatically when it closes, similar to the one behind the service desk, and while Eric is bustling around in the room, looking over the selection, someone has to lean against the door.

 

Nimh, who was at the front of the group, walks up and holds the door, leaning lazily against it. Evan, momentarily, worries that the kid is too scrawny to support the door by himself, but nobody else moves to help him, so Evan assumes that he’s done it before. Surprisingly, he keeps it pinned to the wall with ease, hands in his pockets and bored look on his face, as Eric pulls a little carton of cranberry juice and yogurt from the fridge and hands it to Nimh without either of them saying a word. Nimh sticks the yogurt and the spoon Eric hands him from the counter in his pocket, opening the juice and sipping it idly.

 

“Litzy,” Eric says, “what’ll it be today?”

 

Litzy cocks her head with a look of deep concentration on her face for all of five seconds before straightening and saying, “Graham crackers and grape juice, please.”

 

Eric gives the two items to Nimh one at a time, and the boy passes them to Litzy, who grins and starts back towards the day-room.

 

“Alana?”

 

“Yogurt, please, and orange juice if there is any.”

 

Eric and Nimh repeat their movements from earlier, and Alana steps to the side, but doesn’t leave.

 

“And, last but not least, Evan.” Eric gives him a smile. “What would you like?”

 

“Uh, what, what is there?”

 

Eric opens his mouth, but Alana beats him to the punch, saying, “Juice -- orange, grape, cranberry, and apple -- Powerade, milk, water, and sometimes hot chocolate, but I’m fairly certain Litzy got the last of it yesterday.” Nimh snorts, and then Alana seems to realise that she cut Eric off, because she smiles sheepishly and says, “Sorry.”

 

Eric chuckles and shakes his head, before turning to look back at Evan.

 

“Apple juice, please? I-if you have any,” he fidgets with his cast, scratching his dull fingernails against it.

 

“We do, as a matter of fact,” Eric says, handing it to Nimh, who holds it out to Evan, still with a bored expression, taking another sip of his juice before wiping his mouth on the inside of his shirt collar. “Is that all you’d like for right now?”

 

Evan nodded. “Thank you.”

 

Since everybody had what they wanted, the remaining members of the group head back to the day-room, where Litzy is crunching slowly on her graham crackers, transfixed on the TV mounted on the wall to the right.

 

Nimh polishes off his juice and throws the empty container and the foil from the top of his yogurt into the trash bin next to the door, before depositing himself into his seat next to Litzy and shoveling an unnecessarily large amount of yogurt into his mouth.

 

Alana and Evan sit in their original seats as well, Eric settling into his chair against the wall.

 

Alana opens her yogurt first, licking the yogurt off of the underside of the foil and then folding it twice and putting it on the table. She doesn’t open her juice until she finishes her yogurt, and when she does, she takes the foil off of the carton and folds it the same way, stacking the second piece on top of the first and taking a small sip of her juice.

 

Evan just holds his juice for a moment, biting his lip.

 

He can’t open it. He only has one fully functional hand, and there’s no way he can hold the juice AND pull the top off with only one hand.

 

His shoulders sag as he stares helplessly at the carton. He looks up, briefly, and sees that Alana is looking at him.

 

“Do you need help?” She asks, and he nods slowly, embarrassed.

 

Alana reaches across the table, holding her hand out, and Evan gives her his juice. She pulls the tab and peels back the top, but she doesn’t pull it all the way off and fold it the way she did her own. Instead, she hands the carton back to him, smiling. “Here.”

 

“Th-thanks.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so alana is here now! yay! (im kind of nervous that i won't write her well...)
> 
> the reason for alana being in the psych ward will be explained soon -- probably in the next chapter? i may have them all talk about why they were admitted during leisure time or smth.
> 
> also! none of the people in this fic are real. im making up all the nurses and the other two kids off the top of my head lmao.


	5. v

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His mom holds out her arms for a hug.
> 
> Evan sits down and leans into her embrace.
> 
> It suddenly hits him that his mom’s chin has to rest on his shoulder as she holds him. He’d never realised he’s grown so much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as promised, some backstory is provided on the characters. also, a new player joins the ranks... >:3c  
> this chapter contains:  
> \- graphic descriptions of multiple suicide attempts  
> \- implied self-harm  
> \- graphic description of self-inflicted injuries  
> \- mentions of food  
> \- one (1) brief mention of death  
> \- prescription medications  
> \- swearing  
> \- references to depression and anxiety/discussion of mental health issues  
> if there's anything i left out, please let me know! stay safe <3

“So why are you here?”

 

Evan starts at the sudden interruption of what he had thought was a comfortable silence.

 

“W-what?”

 

Nimh rolls his eyes, blowing his hair out of his face again. “You heard me.”

 

“I…” Evan isn’t sure what to say. He should’ve expected someone to ask, but he’s totally caught off guard -- perhaps even more than he would have been ordinarily, due to the Nimh’s bluntness.

 

The four had been allowed to sit out on the little porch area connected to the day-room, which had wrought-iron bars all around it, outside of which was a screen. Still, it’s fairly nice outside, and Evan supposes that they’re lucky to be able to enjoy it at all.

 

Litzy side-eyes Nimh, frowning for the first time since Evan has met her. “Maybe he doesn’t wanna _talk_ about it, _Nimh_. Give him a break.”

 

Nimh scowls, but then he cocks his head. “What if I go first?”

 

Evan blinks, and Nimh groans, smacking a hand against his face.

 

“I  _ mean _ , what if I say why I’m here first? Would that make shit--” Eric, who’s sitting in the chair that props open the door to the porch, reading a magazine as he supervises the four, tells Nimh to watch his mouth, and he sighs. “Would that make  _ things  _ easier?”

 

Evan swallows and picks at his cast. “I-I, I don’t know? Maybe? But you don’t have to, it’s fine if you don’t--”

 

“Why would I offer if I didn’t feel comfortable talkin’ about it?”

 

Evan’s mouth snaps shut.  _ He has a point _ .

 

Nimh leans forward a bit and lowers his voice. “I’m here because I tried to chug Clorox. My mom found me when I was unscrewing the cap, and then she saw my cuts and had me committed.” He pushes up the sleeves of his jacket to expose his forearms, and he has dozens of cuts of varying sizes, depths, and ages scattered all over both of his arms. Evan gulps at the sight of them; the boy’s arms are thin and pale, and the more recent of the injuries stand out startlingly against his skin.

 

It’s quiet for a moment before Litzy speaks, just as quietly as Nimh, but less casually. Her usually upbeat voice sounds hollow.

 

“My step dad was beating me and my mom, and I was going to hang myself from my ceiling fan.” She wraps her arms around herself. “But hey! I’m okay, and I’m getting help, and my mom finally got the courage to call the police on my step dad.” She smiles, but it’s a weak, ghostly impersonation of her usual grin.

 

Alana fidgets in her seat. “I guess it’s my turn, then?”

 

Evan is about to say that Alana isn’t obligated to share, but Litzy cuts him off before he can even open his mouth.

 

“You totally don’t have to tell us if you’re not comfortable with it!”

 

“No, no,” Alana says, lifting her hands. “It’s okay. Dr Sharpe said that it might help me work past it if I practice talking about it.” She takes a deep breath, folding her hands in her lap and looking down at them.

 

“My anxiety and depression got really, really bad. I was working myself to the limit trying to distract myself, and then I lost my grandma in July, and I... just threw myself into as many activities as I could. I barely slept, I wasn’t taking care of myself; I actually passed out from exhaustion while I was doing work for one of my summer internships.” Alana chews her lip, and Evan thinks he sees tears in her eyes. “I was going to OD on my prescription sleeping pills -- I typed up a note and everything. But I broke down crying in front of my mom, out of the blue, and ended up telling her everything.”

 

Everyone falls silent. Evan stares at the ground, feeling like he’s heard things he wasn’t supposed to hear. And then he figures Alana was right about talking about it; maybe it would help.

 

“I, um,” he begins, and he can feel three sets of eyes turn to him. He folds in on himself a bit. “I told, I, I said I broke my arm, uh, f-falling out of a tree? And that wasn’t-- I was lying. Kind of.”

 

The others wait, in case he wants to continue, before Alana says, “Evan, I’m so sorry…”

 

He takes a shuddering breath. “I felt, uh, like it was, like it was the only thing I could d-do? I felt like, y’know, nobody ever noticed me, nobody even knew I exist, right, like I could-- like if I just disappeared, just went away, nobody would even notice.” He scratches at his right arm. “So I was, well, while I was at Ellison State Park -- I was a-an apprentice park ranger there, um, I know a lot about tr-trees? Um -- while I was at the park I just, I went and found the tallest, er, a really tall tr-tree and I climbed it and then I. Uh…” He fidgets, still looking down at his hands. “I jumped.”

 

There’s a beat of silence, and then Nimh says, quietly, “Well, fuck, guess we’re all in the same boat, huh?”

  
  
  


At the end of leisure time, there’s about an hour of “quiet/room time”, and everyone is sent back to their rooms. Eric informs them (read: informs Evan) that during this time, people will be called out for vitals and phone time, and then after that, they’ll have psychotherapy.

 

Evan nods and grabs his psych testing folder off of the table, as well as the pencil he had been using, and walks back to his room.

 

Since his room is the furthest, Evan isn’t surprised that he’s the last person to be called out. When he gets to the desk, sitting down in the chair to get his vitals taken, Litzy is standing at the counter, the phone to her ear.

 

“ Sí, Mamá. Si, también te extraño…” She bites her lip, before nodding, smiling broadly. “Bueno. ¿Te veré más tarde? ...También te amo, Mamá.” With that, she hangs up, and seems to notice Evan, who’s having his blood pressure taken. She waves, and he smiles at her, before she traipses off to her room. It’s almost as if the moment during leisure time never happened… But Evan still can’t forget the way Litzy’s face had seemed to crumble.

 

“All right, Evan,” Eric says, drawing Evan out of his thoughts, removing the cuff and the pulse sensor. “Your BP is one-thirty over ninety-three -- which is high -- and your heart rate is a little worrying too -- ninety BPM. You feeling okay?”

 

Evan sighs. “Uh, m-my anxiety has been kinda, kinda bad lately? A-and I -- I had the heart thing checked out recently and the doctor told me that I just ha-have a naturally elevated heart rate…”

 

Eric nods. “You’re gonna have to talk to Miss Maureen, the RN on duty today, about your anxiety. Do you take meds for it?”

 

Evan nods. “I take, uh, Xanax. As n-- as needed.”

 

“Is there anything you take daily?”

 

Evan almost says,  _ by ‘as needed’, I mean ‘at least twice a day because my anxiety is just that fucking bad’ _ . Instead, though, he says, “I take a d-da-dai-dail-- uh, I take an SSRI every day. Lexapro…?”

 

“When do you take that?”

 

Evan pinches the fabric of his t-shirt between his fingers. “...Uh, in the evening, usually.”

 

Eric nods. “I’ll let Dr Sharpe know so she can get your prescriptions in by tonight, okay? In the meantime, do you want to make a phone call?”

 

Evan says yes, and Eric flips through a binder sitting open on the counter by the phone. He goes down the page with his finger and, when he gets to the line he was looking for, he taps his finger against the page and mutters the phone number written there to himself.

 

“Whenever you make a phone call, you have to have someone put the number in for you. Sorry -- hospital policy. Can’t have you calling someone other than the people on your contact list.” Eric holds out the phone.

 

Evan nods and stands, taking it carefully to avoid touching Eric’s hand, and watches Eric punch in his mom’s phone number. It rings a couple times before his mom picks up.

 

“Hello?”

 

Evan feels some of the tension in his shoulders loosen. “Hey, mom.”

 

Evan imagines his mom brightening at his voice. “Evan! Hey! How are you doing, sweetie?”

 

Evan smiles a little, despite the fact that she can’t see him. “I’m, I’m fine. Good,” he corrects himself. His mom always calls him out when he says he’s “just fine”.

 

“That’s good, honey.” There’s a rustling, and Evan thinks that she’s running a hand through her hair. “Have you been eating? Did you shower? …Have you been given anything to shower with, or a toothbrush, or anything?” His mom sighs. “I’m sorry I haven’t brought your things by yet, I’m dropping by during visiting hour and I’ll bring you some stuff from home.”

 

“I-it’s okay,” Evan says. “They did give me some, uh, some toiletries, a-and this morning a nurse helped me wr-wrap up my cast so I could shower. And I’ve, uh, I have eaten. We had breakfast this morning, and I th-- I think we have lunch after our next group?” He looks at Eric, who nods. “Yeah…”

 

“All right.” There’s a pause, and then his mom says, “I’m sorry, Evan, but I have to go. My break is almost over.”

 

“That’s, that’s okay, Mom. I’ll, um, talk to-- I’ll see you later?”

 

“You will,” his mom confirms, and he can hear the smile in her voice. “I love you, honey. Bye.”

 

“Bye, Mom. I love you, too.”

 

She hangs up first -- which is necessary whenever someone is on the phone with Evan, because he almost never hangs up first -- and he hands the phone back to Eric, who places it back in the cradle.

 

“There’s still a few minutes of room time left. I’ll come get you when group starts.”

 

Evan nods and heads back to his room.

  
  
  


The rest of the day goes by at a snail’s pace. 

 

In psychotherapy, a Turkish woman with a thick accent starts off talking to Evan and Alana -- who, apparently, was the last person to arrive before Evan -- before moving into the activity she had planned, which was focused on coping mechanisms. She has them make a list of their personal coping mechanisms and label which ones are considered healthy and which are considered unhealthy. Nimh’s list is the longest out of the four, and he hardly has any that are labeled healthy. Alana and Litzy don’t have very many, healthy or otherwise. Evan’s paper remains totally blank.

 

After psychotherapy is lunch, which Evan ends up eating alone in the day-room. The other three committees go down to the cafeteria for lunch, because they’ve all been there for over twenty-four hours. Evan hasn’t.

 

Alana gives him a sympathetic look, and Evan realises that she probably understands how he feels, considering she arrived just two days before he did, but she’s not able to stay with him.

 

After lunch -- which is, for Evan, a grilled cheese sandwich, a roll, stir-fried vegetables, and a cup of lime sherbet -- is expressive therapy, in which they do a writing exercise with a small-statured woman named Alex. They have snack again -- Nimh and Alana get their yogurt and juice, Litzy gets a bag of popcorn (she offers to split with Evan, who politely declines) and a carton of chocolate milk, and Evan gets apple juice and a small pack of soda crackers -- and then an hour and a half of earned leisure time that Evan spends, once again, working on his psych testing packets. At Eric’s behest, he speaks to Maureen about his medication, and she makes note of it in the computer, telling him that she’ll talk to Dr Sharpe and then put the order in.

 

Quiet time passes without incident -- Evan decides to take a nap, and is, blessedly, able to fall asleep with little effort -- and then Eric wakes him up, letting him know that it’s time for dinner.

  
  
  


Evan brushes his teeth again after dinner, and then visiting hour starts at seven, and there’s a knock at the door to his room, a nurse he doesn’t recognise telling him that his mom is waiting for him in the hallway.

 

His mom, who is sitting in a chair on the right side of the entryway hallway, is wearing a zip hoodie over her scrubs, and she smiles gently when she sees him.

 

“Hey, sweetie.” She holds out her arms for a hug.

 

Evan feels his eyes start to burn, and he chokes back tears, saying, “Hi, Mom,” as he sits down and leans into her embrace.

 

It suddenly hits him that his mom’s chin has to rest on his shoulder as she holds him. He’d never realised he’s grown so much.

 

As she pulls away, she gives his shoulders a squeeze. “How has everything been?”

 

“It’s been…” He struggles for a moment, unsure. “...It’s b-been, um, it’s definitely been weird,” he admits, pinching the hem of his shirt between his fingers. “The, um, the rules and stuff take t-time to get used to.”

 

His mom nods. “I can imagine. Well, kind of,” she says. “Not entirely, since…” She trails off, seeming to change her mind, and clears her throat. “You’re still feeling okay, though?”

 

He nods, and then gives his mother another hug, telling her that he’s missed her. She combs her fingers through his hair -- a comforting gesture that she usually reserves for panic attacks -- and tells him she’s missed him, too.

 

“How have you been?” He asks, not moving to leave the embrace, and his mother’s fingers still in his hair for a moment.

 

“I’m fine,” she says softly. “I-- I keep reminding myself that you’re safe, and that helps, but,” she chuckles, shaking her head as much as she can with her son in her arms. “I don’t think I’ll feel completely okay until you’re home.”

 

Evan doesn’t answer; he just hugs her a little tighter, before letting go of his mom, reluctant as he is to do so.

 

“It’ll-- I’ll be home before you know it, Mom.”

 

She nods, smiling at him. “I know, sweetie.”

 

He asks her she’d done that day, and she tells him she’d convinced another nurse named Karen to cover her shift for a couple of hours while she went to talk to his teachers. They’d been, for the most part, very understanding, and apparently some of them had offered to excuse him from what work he misses during his stay at BHC. Those who didn’t either said that they would arrange to have work sent to him or they would talk to him when he was released to discuss timeframes during which he could complete his assignments.

 

Evan’s not thrilled at the thought of talking about the situation to his teachers, none of whom he’s even met, but he nods anyway, knowing that there’s nothing he can do about it.

 

His mom also says that she’s going to set up an appointment with Dr Sherman after it’s decided when Evan will be discharged, and -- while she didn’t share the details of what had happened -- that he’s been made aware of the situation. Evan nods again, promising his mom that he’ll tell Dr Sherman the specifics when he sees him.

 

There’s a lapse in conversation, during which Evan’s eyes drift over to Litzy, who’s sitting cross-legged on the floor some distance to Evan’s left, next to a small woman -- presumably Litzy’s mother -- with the same dark eyes and curls as Litzy, though her hair is pulled into a neat ponytail while Litzy’s floats about her face like a black cloud. The two are turned to face each other, Litzy speaking animatedly in Spanish while her mother nods, occasionally interjecting, her hands gripping her daughter’s.

 

To Evan’s other side, Nimh is sitting next to a tall woman who is talking to him with a soft look in her eyes and a taller man who is looking at the two silently through a pair of rectangular glasses, arms folded across his chest, though his expression is one of reserved attentiveness rather than unkindness. They don’t look anything like Nimh -- neither have eyes that match his crystalline blue, and the roots of his dyed hair are a sandy brownish blonde, but the woman’s hair is dark brown and the man’s is an auburn colour, shot through with grey.

 

Feeling as though he’s prying into business that isn’t his own, Evan’s eyes drop to the floor -- avoiding Alana and her parents all together.

 

His eyes don’t remain there for long; he’s certain that his head isn’t the only one that turns as the entrance to the unit opens, and a dazed-looking, droopy-eyed boy with shoulder-length hair is pushed through the door in a wheelchair, his head lolling a bit to one side.

 

The nurse pushing the chair is the one who brought Evan over to the BHC building from the hospital -- Markus, he recalls vaguely -- and the one who brought him up to the unit, Linda, is trailing behind him. As he reaches the desk, Linda moves to take his place behind the chair, and Markus walks over to Nancy, bending a bit. They exchange a few words, their voices low, before Markus looks at Linda and points at the room next to Evan’s. Linda pushes the wheelchair in the direction of the room, and, consequently, out of Evan’s line of vision, Markus following close behind.

 

Evan’s brow furrows. He’s sure he recognises that boy from somewhere, but, though he wracks his brain, he can’t seem to place him.

 

His mom looks at him, confusion drawing her eyebrows together and creasing her forehead.

 

“What is it?” Her eyes flicker in the direction Evan’s gaze is focused before realisation dawns on her face. “Did you recognise him?”

 

Evan chews his lip, hesitating a moment before speaking. “I  _ thought _ I did, but…” He shakes his head. “I’m, I’m not enti-entirely sure.”

  
  
  


Visiting hour ends sooner than Evan and Heidi like, but they say their reluctant goodbyes, sharing another tight hug before Evan’s mother gives her son a kiss on the cheek, promising to try and visit the next day before class.

 

Evan makes sure that he remembers to put his care box back on the counter, where it sits in line with the other three. It appears that the name cards were written by different people -- the handwriting on Evan’s and Litzy’s are both done in a neat, slanting scrawl, while Nimh’s is written in a curvier, more patient-looking script, and Alana’s name is marked in precise, blocky letters, centred near-perfectly on the card.

 

“Evan,” Nancy says from behind the desk, “perfect timing! I was about to have Pam come get you.” The younger nurse sitting next to her looks up briefly, giving Evan a smile and a wave before focusing her attention back on whatever she had been doing before. “It’s time for meds and evening vitals check.”

 

Nancy gets up and walks to the other end of the desk, standing in front of the medication machine that she’d given him ibuprofen from the previous night. She beckons him over, and he walks to the end of the counter, less cautiously than he had last time on the account of his new, hospital-issued non-slip socks.

 

“You’re taking an SSRI, correct?” He nods. She leans over to look at the monitor of her desktop, before saying, “Escitalopram?”

 

“U-uh,” Evan says.

 

“Lexapro, hon,” she says, not unkindly. Evan nods, blowing out a nervous puff of air.

 

She presses a couple of buttons and turns the key, just as before, before looking over the little tray that pops out. “Let’s see…”

 

When she locates the proper med, she puts a round, white pill in one of the tiny paper cups.

 

“Is water okay?”

 

“Yes, yes ma’am,” Evan stammers. She retrieves a bottle from the back and pours some into a cup for him.

 

“Wristband, please.”

 

He holds up his left arm and she verifies his identity before pushing the two cups across to him.

 

He takes the pill, taking a few more sips of water after he does, and she pours the rest of the water into the cup.

 

“Go have a seat in the chair and Pam will take your vitals, all right?”

 

He nods, walking back around to sit in the chair as he’s told. The other nurse stands up, letting Nancy pass so that she can go to the door Litzy and her mother had been sitting next to earlier and knocking lightly, telling her that it’s time for meds and vitals.

 

Pam takes his vitals quickly, and though her brow furrows when the numbers come up on the screen, she doesn’t comment on them until she’s written them down.

 

“Are those numbers normal for you?”

 

Evan sighs softly through his nose and nods. She lifts a brow.

 

“Do you have anxiety?” When he gives another, almost sheepish nod, she nods back. “That makes sense, then. Still, try and relax if you can; there’s not a lot to be anxious about while you’re here.” She glances around, as though checking to make sure nobody is listening, before leaning in conspiratorially. “I came here a couple of times when I was younger. I have anxiety, too. Everyone here is super understanding, yeah?” She ends her statement with a wink and a smile, which Evan returns, albeit a little nervously.

 

Evan really does, surprisingly, find comfort in her words. She frees him from the machine and ushers him up, telling him to have a good night and get plenty of rest.

 

He passes Litzy as he heads back to his room for the night, while she’s walking over to the chair he just stood up from, and then Alana, who’s standing at the counter in front of Nancy, getting her wristband scanned.

 

Evan has to resist the urge to glance into the room next to his, the door of which is just barely ajar; he can make out Markus and Linda’s voices, but he walks a little faster to avoid accidentally overhearing anything.

 

When he gets to his room, there’s a laundry basket sitting on the end of his bed, clean clothes folded neatly inside.

 

Grateful for the opportunity to change, Evan grabs a clean, though worn, t-shirt, changing quickly after checking to make sure he’s obscured by the wall from where he stands. After that, he pulls off his jeans and folds them up the way he had the night before, and then hesitates.

 

Turning around, Evan sees that the narrow door closest to the edge of the wall -- behind which is his closet -- is open. He lifts the basket of clothes awkwardly, wrapping his good arm around it, before carrying it over to the closet and sliding it in to sit on the middlemost shelf, which just so happens to be at the perfect height, meaning that he doesn’t have to bend down or reach up to get the basket onto it.

 

Evan walks back over to his bed, moving his folded jeans and the socks he’d had on when he was admitted to the closet as well, though he decides to keep the socks he’s wearing.

 

Once he’s pulled his socks off, placing them side-by-side and upside-down at the end of the bed -- they’re a little dirty on the bottoms, considering he’s been wearing them pretty much non-stop since he got them -- he pulls back the sheets again and slips in under them.

 

He worries that he won’t be able to fall asleep, but to his relief, sleep finds him mere moments after he closes his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one hundred theoretical dollars to the first person to guess who the mysterious newcomer is, lmao.
> 
> //also i?? don't know if im writing the canon characters very well??? pls let me know if anyone seems ooc i write most of these things at three in the morning
> 
> EDIT: hoooooly shit. over three hundred hits...... over three hundred people have read my garbage writing........ what in the Actual H*ck yall this is making me anxious im Not A Good Writer,,,,,,


	6. vi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Outside, he can see a parking lot -- the one Markus had pulled into when Evan was moved from intensive care -- as well as several large oak trees, which are home to squirrels and birds that he watches, letting his mind wander.
> 
> Evan wonders if anybody has noticed that he isn’t at school. It’s a stupid thought, honestly; one of the reasons he had climbed that tree on Sunday was because he was painfully aware of his own invisibility -- at least, among his peers. Thinking about it makes his chest tighten, and his arm throbs. He decides that it’s best to avoid that subject.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i apologise for the unexpected pause. im currently in the process of moving, and between that, family affairs, and back-to-school anxiety, i haven't had much motivation. this chapter is extra long, though, so i hope that that kinda makes up for it.  
> this chapter contains:  
> \- food  
> \- swearing  
> \- non-graphic description of injuries (which have already been treated)  
> \- use of a trans person's deadname/birth name (though it doesn't say that's what it is)  
> \- non-graphic mentions of violence  
> \- mentions of drugs  
> \- spiraling thoughts  
> im pretty sure that's all, but i haven't slept in a couple days, so it's entirely possible that i missed something, in which case, please let me know! stay safe, loves <3

 

Evan is woken the same way the next morning as he was before. After slipping on a pair of gym shorts his mom had brought and the socks laid at the end of his bed, he makes his way drowsily to the counter. As he’s grabbing his care box, he notices that there’s a new one next to it, a blue one labeled with the name ‘Chloe’ in the block-y script Evan had seen on Alana’s.

 

His brow furrows. He’d thought that the person brought in last night had been a boy (and he recalls his mom using male pronouns last night asking if Evan recognised them, so at least it wasn’t just him), but maybe he had been mistaken. Not for the first time in his life, Evan is relieved that people can’t hear his thoughts.

 

Shaking himself from his thoughts and reminding himself that it really isn’t his business, Evan goes back to his room, grabbing a fresh set of clothes and heading to the bathroom to shower and brush his teeth.

  


When Evan finishes, he has about as much time left as he had last time, so he tries to do some of his psych testing, but he can’t seem to make himself focus, so he gives up; he can just do it later.

 

Instead, he walks over and opens the curtains, blinking a bit as sunlight streams in through the large window.

 

He finds that what Nancy had said about the window having been replaced is true, and whereas in the day-room and in the rooms downstairs were foggy to the point that they were nearly opaque, he can see through this one perfectly.

 

Outside, he can see a parking lot -- the one Markus had pulled into when Evan was moved from intensive care -- as well as several large oak trees, which are home to squirrels and birds that he watches, letting his mind wander.

 

Evan wonders if anybody has noticed that he isn’t at school. It’s a stupid thought, honestly; one of the reasons he had climbed that tree on Sunday was because he was painfully aware of his own invisibility -- at least, among his peers. Thinking about it makes his chest tighten, and his arm throbs. He decides that it’s best to avoid that subject.

 

He’s just beginning to lose himself in the world outside his window when Eric knocks, saying only, “Breakfast,” before leaving.

 

Sighing and straightening into a standing position rather than the extreme hunch he’d been in to lean on the small sill space beneath the window, Evan stretches and heads for the door.

  
  


He’s less nervous as he walks into the day-room for the second time. He finds a plate -- this time, not being so cautious about its placement, but still distancing himself a bit -- and walks to the cart at the back of the room.

 

Today, he notes, there’s still scrambled eggs and bacon, but instead of toast and sausage, there’s waffles and english muffins. He asks for a little of everything, except for bacon of course, and is unable to hold back a stab of pride when he’s able to ask without stammering.

 

Taking his seat, Evan notices that Litzy is the only other occupant, and she’s got her head resting on the table.

 

Then, Nimh walks in, and he pulls out the chair next to Litzy, dropping into it with little regard for the risk of falling. Litzy jerks her head up at the sudden movement, and Nimh grins at her as he tears open the plastic lid on his cereal (Froot Loops, this time). Litzy glares at him, but there’s no bite behind it, and she drops her back to the table with a soft ‘thump’ and a sigh.

 

“Litz, ya gotta get up and eat, or you’re gonna regret it later,” Nimh says around a mouthful of cereal. Litzy replies with another sigh, heavy and exaggerated, lifting her head slowly.

 

“Fiiiiine.” She gets up and walks to the cart, plate in her hand.

 

Nimh notices Evan’s gaze and swallows his cereal, giving Evan other grin, which makes the bags under his eyes crinkle.

 

“Litzy’s not a morning person. Shocking, huh?”

 

Evan chuckles nervously. “Y-yeah, hah.”

 

Litzy pouts at them as she stands, waiting for her plate to be filled. “ _Rude_ , you guys. Just ‘cuz I’m perky doesn’t mean I have to like mornings.” Alana enters as she says this, and she smiles at everyone.

 

“Good morning, everyone!”

 

Nimh gestures to Alana with his spoon.

 

“ _Alana_ is perky, and she’s always very pleasant in the morning,” he says, words slightly muffled. Apparently he makes a habit of talking with his mouth full.

 

Alana beams and thanks him, walking her plate up the cart, just as Litzy trudges back to her seat.

 

Just as Alana starts back toward the table, the sound of soft footsteps padding down the hall towards the room fills the comfortable silence that had fallen over the teenagers.

 

The newest of the committees walks in, hand gripping his -- her? -- _their_ upper arm.

 

There’s a look of sleepy confusion and uncertainty on their face, and they survey the room, slowly taking it in before they walk to the chair closest to door -- right at the end of one of the tables, which just so happens to be the closest chair to Evan’s -- and looking down at what’s in front of them. Instead of taking the plate up the cart, they opt to sit and carefully open the cereal, hair mostly obscuring their face.

 

The new arrival immediately changes the atmosphere, but the silence that had turned somewhat uncomfortable only lasts a moment, because Litzy has apparently woken up enough to start getting back into her usual chatty mood.

 

“Hi there!” She smiles brightly at the person at the end of the table. “You got in last night, right? How did you sleep? The beds can be kind of uncomfortable the first couple of nights. But don’t worry, you get used to it pretty fast.” Her tone is friendly without being too loud, for which Evan is grateful; too much noise in the morning can give him sensory overload, and the last thing he needs is a headache.

 

The person looks up blearily, blinking a couple of times, but doesn’t offer a response. Litzy’s smile doesn’t falter, but she nods, a little awkwardly.

 

“It’s okay if you don’t feel like talking. I’m not much of a morning person either, but I get kind of excited whenever a new person comes. It was just me and Nimh for a while, but then Alana and Evan got here, and it’s been _so_ much better.” She looks over at Nimh, who’s giving her a look of mock-hurt. “Sorry, Nimh. No offence.”

 

Nimh sighs dramatically, placing a hand over his heart. “I’m not sure I can ever forgive you, Litz. Thou hast wounded me. Never shall my fragile ego recover.”

 

Litzy rolls her eyes, calls Nimh a dweeb, and stuffs a spoonful of the syrup-drowned waffle she’d been sawing at into her mouth.

 

Alana is looking at the person at the end of the table, her brow furrowed. She leans forward a bit.

 

“Connor? Is that you?”

 

The person looks up, slowly, and blinks a couple of times, before recognition crosses their face, and they squint.

 

“Beck?” The voice is hoarse and soft, but undeniably masculine.

 

Alana’s eyes widen a bit. “So it _is_ you. I didn’t recognise you before -- it’s the hair, I think.”

 

Connor nods, movements still sluggish. He looks… _nervous_? “...Yeah. I grew it out.”

 

Alana seems to notice the self-consciousness in his face, because she smiles encouragingly and says, “I think it looks nice.”

 

Connor nods warily. “Thanks…”

 

Evan has been watching this exchange, confused, and it must show in his expression, because Alana looks at him.

 

“Evan, it’s _Connor_ . He goes to our school,” she says, and Evan almost smacks himself, because now that she’s said it, it seems _so fucking obvious_. She’s right about the hair though; it makes Connor look very different.

 

Connor looks over at him, seeming to notice him for the first time, and Evan has to stifle the thought that it’s not like this is unusual.

 

“Evan?” He says, brows furrowed. “Like, friends-with-Jared-Kleinman Evan?”

 

Evan nods, dumbly, before clearing his throat and swallowing his the last of his english muffin.

 

“Uh, y-- yeah, that’s, um, me.”

 

Connor purses his lips.

 

They don’t really talk much after that. Connor eats his cereal dry, mechanically picking up each individual piece with his long fingers. Surprisingly, he’s finishes fast, after which he opens his carton of juice and drink it languidly.

 

Evan expects Connor to remain sitting after he finishes, but almost immediately, he stands up, stacking the rest of the untouched objects at his seat onto the plate and bringing them back to the cart, sorting them and the objects already there into groups before walking back to wipe his hands on his napkin and throw the empty cartons into the trash bin next to the door.

 

When he sits down, arms folded on the table in front of him, Evan notices the bandages wrapped around his forearms, and up closer inspection, he sees that the tightly-wrapped gauze actually continues just past Connor’s elbows.

 

“Take a picture. It’ll last longer.”

 

Evan blanches at having been caught, and stutters out an apology.

 

Connor rolls his eyes. “It’s fine. Chill.”

 

Evan’s mouth snaps shut. Feeling slightly guilty, he stares down at his plate, busying himself with finishing the last of his food.

 

Eric enters not too much later, signaling that it’s almost time for community group. While the other four at the table push back from the table almost in unison, moving to put everything away, Connor remains seated at his already immaculate space, picking idly at his bandages.

 

“Okay,” Eric says, once everyone is back in their chairs. “Since we have someone new joining us, let’s go over the rules again. Alana, care to do the honours?”

 

Alana recites the rules just as she had the day before, and Eric nods approvingly.

 

“Thank you. Now, let’s get introductions out of the way.”

 

They go down the table -- Nimh, Litzy, Alana, Evan -- before Connor says, a blank look on his face, “I’m Connor.”

 

Eric gives him a look. “Connor, you said?”

 

Connor stiffens and presses his lips together, nodding.

 

Eric nods back and grabs the clipboard on which he writes the daily goals, making a note of that. “C-O-N-N-O-R?” Connor gives another nod before focusing his eyes on the grain of the wood in the table, staring numbly and returning to pushing his thumbnail under the edge of the bandages on his right arm.

 

“You should talk to someone about getting the name on your care box changed,” Alana says. “They wrote ‘Chloe’ on it by mistake.”

 

Connor doesn’t respond.

 

Eric clears his throat. “How about we go ahead and make our daily goals, m’kay? Nimh, we’ll start with you.”

 

Nimh’s goals are the same as yesterday’s -- stay positive, drink more water. Litzy’s are to try not to cry and drink more water. Alana’s are to finish reading the book she started and brush her teeth after each meal. Evan mumbles that he wants to try not to apologise as much and to remember to brush his teeth after lunch. When Eric turns to Connor, Connor frowns.

 

“I wanna talk to the doctor about meds,” he says. “...And stay hydrated.”

 

Eric nods, and as he finishes writing down Connor’s goals, he looks up.

 

“Connor, would you like me to get in touch with your parents about changing your name on your papers?”

 

Connor scowls, eyes still on his arms. “Don’t bother. They’re not gonna do anything about it.”

 

Eric nods again. “Okay. I’ll see about getting the tag on your care box changed.”

 

By that time, there’s only a couple of minutes left until school, so Eric gives a brief explanation of it for Connor’s sake and then tells the five teenagers to go ahead and get started.

 

Evan goes back to his room to get his test folder, and when he returns to the day-room, he finds that Connor has a folder of his own in front of him, and he’s staring blearily down at one of the thicker packets.

 

Evan wants to say something to him -- maybe tell him that the psych testing isn’t all that bad, really, because most of the questions are, like, on scales from ‘never’ to ‘almost always’ with bubbles next to them in the columns under each category -- but his palms begin to sweat just from thinking of speaking to him. He wipes his hands on his shorts as discreetly as he can.

 

It’s not that Evan thinks Connor is a bad guy. He’s never even spoken to him before -- not more than a couple of words in, like, primary school -- but… Well, there are _rumours_ about Connor Murphy.

 

Everyone knows about the incident with Mrs G. Everyone knows that Connor got into a fight with Brian Harris and almost gave the kid a concussion in the seventh grade. And everyone knows that Connor’s attendance in school is sporadic at best. People say that it’s because he skips class to do snort cocaine and smoke pot with a bunch of guys from the community college.

 

Evan doesn’t usually like to believe in rumours. But honestly, most of the things that people said were either true or not huge leap of logic. Evan had seen Connor in a couple of classes in the past few years with his eyes rimmed red and so bloodshot he couldn’t _not_ be high. He got in trouble for smelling like cigarettes in junior high (Evan knows this for sure, because he was there when it happened); maybe he had just moved from cigarettes to hard drugs.

 

Evan’s eyes refocus and he blinks. He realises, embarrassingly, that he had been staring. He feels heat rising in his face, but at least it seems that Connor hasn’t noticed. He’s bubbling in answers, moving almost mechanically.

 

Evan swallows, ducking his head, and scratches the back of his neck. He picks up his pencil and goes back to his own tests.

  
  


At snack time, Evan gets up and follows behind Litzy, who is humming tunelessly to herself. Nimh is at the front, as was expected, and when they reach the pantry he holds the door with the laziness that Evan supposes is customary.

 

Connor takes up the rear, blank-faced, and stares at the floor as Alana, walking next to him, tells him what options are usually available.

 

Eric announces that the hot chocolate has been restocked, and Litzy lets out a little squeak. She gets a bag of oven baked chips and moves to stand to the right of the door, almost vibrating with excitement.

 

“Shouldn’t have told her there was hot chocolate,” Nimh says dryly. “She’d kill a man over the stuff.”

 

Litzy sticks her tongue out at him, and he smiles crookedly at her.

 

Nimh and Alana get their usual yogurt and juice, Evan gets apple juice and graham crackers. Eric turns to Connor, who is standing next to Alana, somewhat hunched over, and tugging on his earlobe.

 

“...Hot chocolate,” he says, after a beat of hesitation.

 

Eric nods, telling Connor that he’s made a good choice and moves to start mixing up two packets of Swiss Miss.

 

“Why are you so jittery? It’s just hot chocolate,” Connor asks, frowning at Litzy, who breaks into a grin.

 

“It reminds me of home. My grandma makes the _best_ homemade hot cocoa.” She shrugs. “It’s not the same, but it’s like, it reminds me of happy times.” She cocks her head. “What about you? You don’t seem like a hot chocolate guy, especially the kind who drinks it in early August.”

 

Connor picks at his bandages. “...Kinda like what you said. Good memories and crap.”

 

Eric hands Connor and Litzy two Styrofoam cups, cautioning them about the heat.

 

Litzy grins and practically bounces back to the day-room. The other follow at a more normal pace, Connor being the first to get back because of the length of his strides.

 

Evan realises he’d never noticed how tall Connor is. He’s got to be at least six feet, and because of his baggy clothes and lack of hoodie, it’s easier to tell that Connor is lanky and thin. Most of his height seems to come from his legs.

 

Evan doesn’t know when he started getting so observant of other people, but he chastises himself for staring again. What if Connor notices and he thinks that Evan is judging him? What if he sees how much of a creep Evan is and thinks he’s super gross and then tells everybody that Evan is super weird and oh god everybody is going to _hate_ him, why is he such a _fucking freak_ , why can’t he just stop--

 

“--an sit outside again today, if you want to,” Evan hears Eric say, and he’s shaken back into reality. Nimh pumps his fist in the air and says ‘ _yesss_ ’, and Litzy hops up out of her chair. (Evan realises that while he’d been lost in thought, his brain had auto-piloted him to his place the table, and thankfully, he’d been staring at his crackers and juice rather than the object of his thoughts.) Connor looks on as Eric gets up and unlocks the door to the porch.

 

“...They let us go outside?” His brows furrow.

 

“Uh, there’s like, there’s a por-porch area that they let us sit out on during leisure time, i-if we’re good,” Evan says, and is pleasantly surprised at how little he stammers.

 

Connor doesn’t respond; Eric has opened the door, pulling a chair up, both to prop the door and to sit in while Nimh and Litzy take over the more comfortable couch pushed against the back “wall” of the porch.

 

Evan makes eye contact with Alana and sheepishly holds out his juice and crackers. She smiles and takes them.

 

Alana seems to have decided that it’s her job to open things for Evan when his cast gets in the way. Evan doesn’t really have any complaints; he’s glad he doesn’t have to ask Eric for help (though he’s pretty nice, Evan has never felt comfortable asking adults for things), and the fact that she seems so genuinely happy to help him makes him feel less guilty about asking her.

 

When his snack is returned to him, Alana says, “Evan, would you like to go outside, or would you rather stay in here? I’m amiable to either decision, but I would like to stay with you to try keep you company.” She smiles almost shyly, an expression Evan doesn’t think really belongs on her face. “If that’s fine with you, I mean.”

 

Evan nods, giving what he hopes passes as a reassuring smile. “Th-thanks, Alana, I really, I re-really appreciate that.” He bites his lip, considering her question. “U-um, it looks like it’s a pretty nice d-- a nice day out? So is it okay if we go sit outside?”

 

Alana nods. “Of course. Like I said, I’m fine with either option.” She looks over at Connor, who appears to be trying to burn a hole in the table with his stare. “Would you like to come with us, Connor?”

 

Connor looks up, surprise evident in the slight widening of his eyes, but it passes quickly. He shrugs, and then he nods.

 

The three stand up and head to the door to join the two teenagers lounging on the couch, Litzy kneeling backwards on the far right cushion with her forehead pressed against the wrought iron bars, watching with interest as people pass by, and Nimh sitting between the two cushions on the left, legs splayed and arms draped across the back of the couch so that he takes up as much space as possible.

 

Alana wrinkles her nose. “Nimh, you’re hogging the comfy couch.”

 

The blue haired boy, gives her a lazy, crooked smile and flips his blue fringe out of his face. “Ya snooze, ya lose.

 

Alana rolls her eyes, but she has a smile on her face. She adjusts her glasses and sits down on the other couch sitting across from the comfy one, a rectangular table in the centre of the small porch-space providing something of a barrier between the two, though the arrangement left plenty of leg space. There are several chairs, as well -- some are grey plastic, not unlike something one might see in a classroom, while others are wooden, identical to the ones in the day room.

 

Evan follows Alana and sits on the opposite end of the couch, perching on the edge and slouching a little to pick at a loose string on his shirt. Connor drops into the hard plastic chair nearest Evan, who flinches a bit at the sudden movement.

 

It’s almost awkwardly quiet for a bit, only interrupted when Eric looks up from his magazine and tells Litzy to turn around and sit correctly, and then Litzy’s subsequent apology as she shuffles around on her knees and plops down with a huff.

 

Evan tugs at the fabric of his shirt nervously, fidgeting, and Connor turns to him.

 

“Would you relax? You’re making me nervous,” he says. Evan has to resist the urge to laugh; _he’s_ making _Connor_ nervous? That’s probably one of the funniest things Evan has ever heard.

 

Instead, he clenches his left hand around the bottom part of his shirt -- which he rolled slightly so that there was more to pinch -- and apologises.

  
  


Alana, in an attempt to start conversation, asks if anybody wants to play Uno, and to Evan’s surprise, Connor is the first to agree. The other three decide that they might as well join in. Alana gets up to grab the cards from the day-room, and Evan looks at Connor out the corner of his eye.

 

Connor’s got pretty nice features, he notices. His cheekbones are well-defined. The bridge of his nose has an almost imperceptible bump to it, but it’s not crooked in the least. His jaw looks square and angular from the front, but from the side, Evan can tell that it’s not as sharp as it appears. Connor’s hair, which is messy in a ‘it-just-grows-like-this’ kind of way, reaches his shoulders, and though it’s a little limp -- as though Connor’s not washed it in a while -- it’s curly, and still appears rather soft.

 

“What are you looking at?”

 

And of course, Evan was caught staring.

 

“Uh! N-nothing! Sorry that probably made you uncomfortable like you probably thought I was staring at you b-but I wasn’t! I just, I was zoning out, y’know, and,” he gestures awkwardly with his hands. “You’re just right there and so it seemed like I was looking at you. Sorry.”

 

Connor blinks at him. “Do you always talk that fast or is just because you’re talking to me?”

 

“N-no no, sorry, I ah, yeah. I do that. I do it a lot, actually, ha. Sorry.” He ducks his head and scratches the back of his neck. “I just ge-get nervous when I’m talking to pe-peo-people I don’t know. Sorry.”

 

Connor purses his lips. “You’ve apologised five times in the past two minutes.”

 

Evan opens his mouth.

 

“Do _not_.”

 

Evan closes his mouth.

 

Alana walks in, a deck of worn, faded cards in hand.

 

“Sorry it took so long. They were a little hard to find.” She pulls off the rubber band around the deck and pauses. “Does anybody know how to shuffle quickly? I can shuffle, but it takes a bit…”

 

Evan is pretty good at shuffling cards -- when he was little, he and Jared played ‘go fish’ and Uno a lot, so he had a lot of practice -- but one can’t exactly shuffle cards one-handed, so he shifted in his seat without speaking up.

 

“I can do it,” Connor says, and Evan jumps, because all of a sudden Connor is _very_ close to him, since apparently rather than ask Evan to pass the deck to him he decided he should just lean right over across Evan and take them. He lifts a hand. His palm is pretty big, and his fingers are long. Evan’s dad would probably call them dealer’s hands; he’d played poker pretty frequently before he left. Evan does not wonder if he still does.

 

Connor shuffles the deck pretty fast, and then deals them just as quickly, giving each person seven cards and putting the remainder of the deck in the centre of the table.

 

“Hope you guys are ready to lose,” Litzy chirps.

 

“Yeah, dream on, Litz,” Nimh says, pushing his hair out of his eyes with his free hand. “I’m the uncrowned _king_ of Uno.”

 

Alana shakes her head. “Don’t get overconfident, you two. Being cocky just might be your downfall.” Her lips are turned up slightly in a subtle smile. She flicks a braid over her shoulder.

  
  


They almost don’t finish the game before leisure time ends, but they manage it, even with all the times they have to stop for theatrics. It comes down to Litzy and Evan in the end, and though Evan is certain he’s going to lose, Litzy forgets to call Uno three times, which gives him perfect opportunity to beat her. She throws down her cards and pouts, saying that Evan _clearly_ cheated, and then Connor rolls his eyes and tells her that Evan looked like he was going to have a stroke just hearing the _word_ ‘cheat’, so the game couldn’t have been anything but fair.

 

Eric seems to be amused as he watches things play out, but he says that they have to clean up and head inside. The five teens collect the cards and Alana gathers the deck up, wrapping the rubber band around it and going to put the cards away.

 

Everyone heads back to their rooms for quiet time. It isn’t until Connor goes into the room next door to Evan’s and he remembers that Connor is his neighbour.

 

Evan grabs his care box from the front desk. In addition to the hospital-issued toiletries, Evan’s comb, deodorant, and mouthwash from home are in it. He smiles and nods to Maureen, who is sitting at the desk, before he goes back to his room, brushes his teeth, and lays down to take a nap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter honestly feels extremely rushed to me but it's been like four days since i posted a chapter and i honestly have no idea how to fix this since i don't have a beta reader and i'm trying to do a dozen things at once 24/7,,,
> 
> school starts for me in three (3) days and because of that updates may be a little thinned out. on the bright side, it'll force me to establish a schedule instead of staying up for 16 hours straight, writing nonstop all the while
> 
> please please please let me know if there's anything anything you think i can improve!! this fic is my baby and i'm gonna see it through to the bitter end. (which is not coming anytime soon. not if i keep writing 3k words per chapter of insignificant details and awkward teens trying to interact.)
> 
> anyway! i'll try to have at least one more chapter posted before monday. later lovelies~


	7. vii

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s crying now, tears pouring freely down his cheeks, and he stuffs the collar of his shirt into his mouth to muffle the sound. He spits it out shortly after and starts gagging.
> 
> Hand flying up to his mouth, he scrambles across the floor on his knees, barely reaching the toilet before he starts to retch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> asldkfjgh sorry for the unexpected hiatus there guys. i haven't had the time or energy to write in a while... but i'm back now! and the chapter is a little longer than usual! (though i'll be honest, im not sure it's very good...)  
> this chapter contains:  
> \- swearing  
> \- graphic description of a panic attack  
> \- spiralling thoughts  
> \- lots of self deprecation  
> \- mentions/descriptions of food  
> \- conspiracy theories  
> \- elevators  
> \- use of a trans person's deadname/birth name (though it doesn't say that that's what it is)  
> \- vitals checks  
> and i think that's it. let me know if i missed anything. stay safe, loves <3

 

Eric rouses Evan from his nap for vitals and phone time, and when he walks out, Connor is standing next to the counter, the phone to his ear, a tired frown on his face.

 

Evan doesn’t  _ mean  _ to eavesdrop, but he’s just…  _ right there _ . And as hard as he’s trying not to pay attention, he still hears everything Connor says.

 

“...Okay. Shouldn’t she be at school?” Evan figures he’s talking about Zoe. “...You’re kidding, right? She doesn’t want to talk to me, Mom, she  _ hates  _ me. She’s probably more upset that I’m alive than she’d be if I was dead.” His scowl deepens as he listens to the person on the other end -- his mother, apparently -- speak. “Fine. But if she starts anything, I’m hanging up.”

 

Evan fiddles with the hem of his shorts while he waits for Eric to switch the cuffs on the blood pressure machine.

 

Connor is quiet for a moment before he sighs and says, softly, “I’m… I’m sorry.” He runs a hand through his hair, grimacing when it catches on tangles. “I  _ know _ . I know that. ...Jesus Christ, could you maybe gimme a break?” His face twists angrily. “ _ Why _ ? Because it’s bad enough I’m in  _ this place _ , I don’t need you giving me crap on top of that. I’m  _ tired _ , Zoe.” He pauses again, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. “Look, I’m out of time. Send Larry my regards. Or don’t. He probably doesn’t give a shit anyway.”

 

Evan has to keep himself from jumping when Connor drops the phone back into the cradle with a bit more force than necessary. Eric and Maureen both turn to Connor to give him a look, but he doesn’t see; the second the phone leaves his hand, he turns and stalks back to his room.

 

Eric sighs, and the machine beeps. Eric writes down the readings, and makes an offhanded remark about how Evan’s blood pressure has gone down a little. Evan nods his head. Eric asks if he wants to talk to his mom, and Evan says yes, standing cautiously and walking to the phone, though making sure that Eric is able to get to it so he can dial the number.

 

Evan puts the phone to his ear and waits, biting his lip and tugging on the hem of his shirt nervously.

 

The phone rings three times before his mom picks up.

 

“Hi, honey,” she says. Evan is about to say something before his mother sighs, sounding like she’s trying to catch her breath. He hopes he doesn’t have anything to do with that.

 

“I’m sorry, sweetie, I can’t talk long. I promised Karen I would cover her while she went out to get lunch -- payback for yesterday.”

 

Evan nods, then remembers that his mom can’t see him, and says, “I get it mom. I-it’s okay. I’ll s-se-- I’ll see, see you later?” He winces. Even to his own ears, his voice sounds almost gratingly hopeful. He prays that his mom doesn’t comment on it.

 

“Yeah,” she says, and he can hear a smile in her voice. “Classes were cancelled tonight because the professor has a cold, so I’ll definitely be there.” She pauses. “Oh, before I forget -- Jared has been asking about you. He was wondering if he could come see you sometime.”

 

Evan freezes. Jared was  _ asking about him _ ? Jared wanted to  _ visit him _ ?

 

“U-uh, I-I mean sure I guess he could if he wants b-but um isn’t there a ru-rule about wh-who can visit? Like um, y’know, they have to be o-over ei-eigh-- um, eighteen, and they have to be family?”

 

Heidi must be nodding, because he hears the faint sound of her hair against the receiver. “Jared turned eighteen last week, sweetie, remember? And if anyone asks, we’ll say he’s your cousin. He might as well be, right?”

 

Evan nods again, slower this time, more to himself than anything. “Y-yeah. Uh. Okay.”

 

“Okay. I’ll bring him by tonight so you two can talk.” There’s a sound behind her and she swears under her breath. “ _ Shit _ . I gotta go now, Evan. I’ll see you tonight. Love you.”

 

“Love you too, mom.”

 

Evan puts the phone in the cradle gently, brows furrowed. He can’t believe… Jared wants to see him. Jared is  _ worried  _ about him.

 

Evan knows that Jared doesn’t hate him. He knows that the jokes Jared makes about “family friends”, the car insurance thing -- they hurt Evan’s feelings, and sometimes it’s hard to tell if he’s being serious, but he doesn’t think Jared is  _ trying  _ to hurt him. Evan’s noticed over the years that Jared usually doesn’t realise when something he says is hurtful -- which is confusing, sure, since how could you not realise telling someone that the only friend they have is only there out of obligation is hurtful? But then again, Evan has a hard time recognising sarcasm, so maybe other people can tell it’s a joke and Evan is the only one who can’t.

 

He’s actually glad that Jared wants to come. He knows how much Jared hates hospitals -- he says they smell like bleach and depression, and nurses make him uncomfortable -- so maybe that’s why it’s so surprising; Jared wouldn’t do this just for the sake of having his car insurance paid, or having an allowance, or whatever excuse he comes up with on any given day.

 

At least, Evan hopes he wouldn’t.

  
  
  


In group, the Turkish woman (her name, Evan recalls, is Dafne) is back. She smiles at them, and then goes around to make sure she knows everyone’s names. When she gets to Connor, who is sitting slumped in his chair at the opposite end of the table from where he’d sat that morning -- Dafne was sitting in his spot -- she pauses.

 

“I see we have a new face joining us,” she says, and then she smiles and tilts her head a bit, her dangly earrings waving about. She looks down at her roster -- Evan isn’t sure why she has one. Maybe she writes down how well they had participated in the group or something -- and then looks back up at him.

 

“Chloe?”

 

Connor’s hair is hanging around his face, but Evan can practically hear him grit his teeth.

 

“ _ Connor _ ,” he corrects stiffly.

 

“Connor,” she repeats, looking confused. “Did they make a mistake on the paperwork? Because on my roster it clearly says--” Dafne cuts herself off, shaking her head, like she's decided not to ask. “All right. Connor. I’ll mark this down on my roster so I don’t forget, hm?” She clicks her pen and scribbles on the paper before she lays both the pen and the paper aside.

 

“All right. So. Last time, we did a coping mechanism list, yes? Today we will try something I have not done before -- a colleague told it to me and I want to try it with you guys. You are my guinea pigs,” Tittering a bit, she reaches into the shopping bag sitting next to her. She pulls a green ceramic mug from the bag and shakes it a bit, causing the contents to rustle, before putting the mug on the table.

 

“There are paper strips in here with prompts written on them. We will pass the mug around, and each person will shake the mug and pick a paper. They’ll read what is on it out loud, and then respond to the prompt. We'll do this a few times.”

 

Alana raises her hand a bit to get Dafne’s attention, and then says, “Will we keep the slips with the prompt once we’ve taken it?”

 

Dafne smiles. “Good question, Alana. No, when you are done with the prompt put it back in the cup and give it to the next person. They will mix the prompts up and then pick one themselves.”

 

“What if we don’t wanna answer?” Connor asks without raising his hand, arms folded on the table with his head resting sideways against them. Evan thinks that he must have gotten his bandages changed, because they’re wrapped differently than before and show no signs of Connor’s picking.

 

Dafne gives him the same smile she’d given Alana. “Another good question.” She looks at the group as a whole and says, “If you feel uncomfortable answering a question, simply put it back, shake the mug again, and pick a new one. You can't do it too much though; you have to answer one of them.”

 

Connor nods wordlessly, and Dafne hands the mug to Alana.

  
  
  


The prompts in the mug range from “what is something you dream of doing in the future?” to “if you had to guess, how do you think others perceive you?”

 

Connor had the misfortune of drawing the latter. He scowled at it, but he’d already put his slips back and redrawn three times, so Dafne had said that this was the one he had to answer.

 

“People think I’m crazy.”

 

Nimh smiles wryly. “Pretty sure people think everyone who ends up in this place is crazy, dude.”

 

Connor rolls his eyes. “I mean people think I’m a straight-up  _ psychopath _ . Like I’m gonna pull a knife on someone, or one day I’m gonna snap and shoot up the school or some stupid crap like that.”

 

Everyone falls silent. Dafne asks, “Do you know for sure people think this? Do they have any reason to?”

 

“I threw a printer at my teacher in the second grade.”

 

Dafne seems caught off guard by this, and she does a pretty convincing impression of a goldfish that’s been removed from its bowl. She clears her throat. “Well. That’s got to be very hard for you, dealing with these people at your school.”

 

Connor scoffs, rolling his eyes, but doesn’t say anything else. Dafne thanks him for sharing, and Connor passes the mug on to the next person.

 

Who just happened to be Evan.

 

He swallows hard as he looks down at the mug.

 

“U-uh, c-could so-someone shake it up for, for me? Uh,” he holds up his broken arm. “I kind of. Can’t. S-sorry.”

 

Dafne tells him that it’s fine and mixes the slips for him, handing it back so that he can pick one.

 

Holding it open with shaky fingers, Evan reads, “List fi-five things you li-- you like ab-about yourself.” His brow furrows. Evan remembers the ‘fish-out-of-water’ expression on Dafne’s face earlier, and thinks that that must be what he looks like right now. “Um…”

 

_ This should be easy. Why are you having such a hard time? Oh wait. There’s nothing about you that you like. There’s nothing about you  _ to  _ like. You’re a fucking creep. You’re a loser. A freak. You’re pathetic and disgusting. _

 

Evan knows he hasn’t said anything, knows that everyone is looking at him expecting him to start talking and he wants to say something,  _ anything _ , just to make them stop staring, but he just.  _ Can’t _ .

 

“...Evan? Are you okay?” Dafne has a concerned look on her face.  _ You’re worrying her. Say something. _

 

“I don’t… I don’t think I c-- I can’t answer this, I’m. Sorry.” He swallows thickly and picks at his nails, fingers trembling.

 

Dafne furrows her brows. “Surely you can think of five things.”

 

“Can I please pick something else,” Evan asks, not looking up, louder than he means to.

 

“Evan, it is just five things. You can do that. Easy. Off the top of your head, just five.”

 

He shakes his head, and one of his exhales comes out as a wheeze.

 

Alana leans forward a bit. “With all due respect, I really think Evan should be able to pick another prompt. He’s clearly uncomfortable.”

 

Dafne waves her hand dismissively in Alana’s direction. “He’s fine. Let him think.”

 

Alana purses her lips, but she settles back fully into her chair.

 

Shrivelling in his chair and very much wishing that the floor would open up and drag him down through it, Evan realises he can’t get out of this.

 

“I like that I’m g-good at science,” he blurts. Dafne smiles at him and nods for him to keep going.

 

“And… I-I,” he glances up and sees that there are still five sets of eyes on him, and his gaze falls back to the scuffed tile on the floor. “I, um, I’m good a-at, I’m good at climbing trees? I’m ki-kind of athletic I guess even though I don’t, I don’t really look like it, but I climb trees a-and go on hikes and. And stuff.”

 

“You like that you are an outdoors person?” Dafne summarises, tilting her head a bit. Evan nods, more forcefully than strictly necessary. “That makes two things. What else?” She presses.

 

He scratches his neck, feeling a flush crawling up the back of it. “I don’t…”

 

He imagines how he must look to them right now: an awkward, blubbering mess of a human being, slouched over in his chair and turning bright red, unable to answer a  _ simple fucking question _ . His breath starts to quicken.

 

“I’m, I’m s-sorry, please, pleasedon’tmakemedothissorry,” he wheezes. “Pl-ple-- C-can I, can I go to my ro-room?”

 

Dafne’s eyes are wide, and she looks confused. “...Go ahead?”

 

Evan stands so quickly that his chair scrapes loudly on the floor, and he hurries out of the room, shoulders drawn up to his ears, pulling the collar of his t-shirt up to wipe furiously at his eyes.

  
  
  


Evan manages to get to his room at a normal pace, but the moment he gets there, he flings himself into his bathroom. He stumbles across the threshold, barely catching himself on the bathroom door, which he pulls shut. He flips on the light and then slouches forward, pressing his back into the closed door and breathing raggedly.

 

_ Stupid stupid stupid can’t do anything right fuck useless awful garbage _

 

His thoughts are whirling so quickly it seems to make the room around him spin, the grey-scale tile floor blurring. He whimpers and sinks to the floor.

 

_ Disgusting piece of shit idiot they hate you they hate you _

 

He pulls his knees to his chest.

 

_ Useless stupid idiot just die why couldn’t you kill yourself before why didn’t you get it right you stupid piece of trash _

 

He’s crying now, fat, salty tears pouring freely down his cheeks, and he stuffs the collar of his shirt into his mouth to muffle the sound of his rapid breathing. He spits it out shortly after and starts gagging.

 

Hand flying up to his mouth, he scrambles across the floor on his knees, barely reaching the toilet before he starts to retch.

 

_ Can’t breathe can’t breathe can’t breathe oh god oh fuck am I dying I’m dying _

 

There’s a knock at the door.

 

“Hey, Evan? You doin’ all right?” It’s Eric. “Can I come in?”

 

Evan gags, but by this point his stomach is running on empty, so he croaks a little noise that’s meant to be an answer, though what it means even he isn’t quite sure.

 

Eric seems to take it as a yes, because he opens the door, eyes falling on Evan, who is still hunched over the toilet, breathing hard and shaking with sobs. The tears have slowed -- though Evan can still taste salt on his tongue -- but noticing this seems to trigger something and they return with a vengeance.

 

“Do you want me to get you anything?” Evan shakes his head, screwing his eyes shut, and spits, trying to get the taste of bile off of his tongue.

 

Eric stands a moment in the doorway before he leans over to the paper towel dispenser next to the sink and pulls a couple out, turning toward Evan.

 

“Here. We’ll get you cleaned up, and then I’ll ask Miss Maureen to get your meds. Sound good?”

 

Evan nods, swallows hard, and sniffs a couple of times as he takes the paper towels, wiping at his face.

 

Once he’s decided his face is as clean as it’s going to get, Evan lets Eric lead him out of the bathroom. Maureen is sitting at the front desk, and she makes quick work of retrieving Evan’s medication for him, scanning his wristband and passing a cup of water and his pills across the counter before Evan even really realises it.

 

“Group isn’t over yet, so if you want to go back in, you can. Or you can stay in your room for a bit, just until you calm down. Your choice,” Eric says, giving Evan a reassuring smile.

 

_I don’t_ want _to make a choice_ , Evan thinks, but he keeps this thought to himself. Instead, he opens his mouth and says, “I thi-think I, I can go back, uh. I think I’ll be o-okay.”

 

Eric nods, still smiling, and Evan does his best to return it, but he can tell even without seeing it that it’s a twitchy, awkward imitation of what he’s attempting.

  
  
  


Evan pulls at the hem of shirt as he walks back into the day-room, trying to ignore the anxiety still pressing on his chest --  _ they’re looking at you they’re staring they know they see what a mess you are they  _ know -- as he returns to his seat.

 

Dafne continues speaking as though nothing’s happened, and Evan is both grateful and disheartened that his…  _ outburst  _ hasn’t had any lasting effect.

 

Tuning himself back in and trying his best to follow the thread of the discussion, Evan infers that Dafne is trying to get Connor to elaborate on something he’s said.

 

“I don’t  _ care  _ about people knowing,” Connor snaps, “I just don’t think it’s anybody’s business!”

 

Dafne doesn’t seem convinced. “You tell me that they give you a very hard time already. Are you sure this isn’t part of you being worried about people judging you?”

 

Connor clenches his jaw and bangs his fist against the table. “I just  _ said  _ it’s  _ not _ ! It doesn’t matter! People think I’m a freak no matter what, why does it make a fucking  _ difference _ ?”

 

“Please calm down, Connor,” Alana says. Connor turns his gaze to her and scowls, and she purses her lips.

 

He looks back at Dafne, grimacing deeply, and all but snarls, “Whatever. I’m not talking about this anymore.” He stands up.

 

“Connor, I did not excuse you from--”

 

Connor ignores her, pushing his chair back in with such force that it scrapes across the floor, and stomps out of the room.

 

It’s quiet for a moment. Dafne looks at the clock and sighs.

 

“Group is over now. Lunch will be soon, yes?” She doesn’t wait for a response, putting her things back in her bag and standing up, only looking back at the group to give them a taut smile and wave, telling them to enjoy the rest of their day, nodding at Eric as he enters behind her.

 

“All right, everyone,” he begins, before pausing. “Where did Connor go?”

 

Alana raises her hand a bit to get his attention. “He went back to his room. He was… very upset and needed to cool down.”

 

Eric nods slowly. “All righty, then.” He looks at the clipboard in his hands. “Evan! Looks like you’re joining us in the cafeteria today!”

 

Evan nods. Everyone else stands up, and he follows their lead, shuffling toward the door.

 

Litzy leads the way down the hall, humming to herself, the ever-present spring in her step not wavering at all, even in light of the preceding events. Eric scans his ID card and opens the door, and the procession of teenagers continues past him as he holds it for them. They walk down the corridor to the elevator and Eric strides up to the front to press the call button.

 

Nobody says anything at first, so the only sound is Litzy’s offkey humming, and then Alana speaks up.

 

“I’m glad you get to come down to the cafeteria today, Evan. I personally hated having to eat alone. And there are desserts downstairs, which are all very good -- I think you’ll like them. It’s really such a shame Connor has to eat in the day-room, don’t you think?”

 

Evan nods, and the elevator doors open with a ‘ding’. Litzy zips in, the others following behind her at a more reasonable pace as Nimh chides Litzy good-naturedly on her excitement.

 

“I can’t  _ not  _ be excited!” She says, smiling toothily. “Dr Sharpe told me I’m getting discharged today!”

 

Nimh’s lazy smile falters. “That’s rad. Congrats.”

 

Litzy’s face splits into a grin at that, and she moves to the left side of the elevator. Nimh presses himself into one of the corners, one hand leaving the pocket of his hoodie to grip the metal rail on the wall. Alana moves to the back as well, standing towards the middle, and smiles as Evan’s eyes dart to the corner adjacent to the one Nimh’s situated himself in.

 

Eric gives him a little nudge, saying, “Go on, Evan.”

 

Flushing, Evan ducks his head and hurries to the corner, holding onto the rail awkwardly with his good hand and keeping his eyes trained on his feet.

  
  
  


The ride down is almost laughably quick -- they were, after all, only moving down one floor -- but the elevator moves a bit haltingly, and the way it jerks ever so slightly as it reaches the destination is enough to make Evan’s heart leap into his throat.

 

Litzy presses the ‘open doors’ button and skips out, her hair bouncing around her face. Eric holds the doors as the other three file out, Nimh and Alana looking a bit green.

 

Evan shuffles along at the back, chewing his lip. Eric pauses in front of him and says, “I’ll carry the tray for you. Just let me know what you want, hm?”

 

Evan nods, tugging on the end of his shirt.

 

There are two women working as cafeteria staff, and Evan is hit by how remarkably like school it feels.

 

“Whatcha want, hon?” One of them asks, not unkindly, but Evan is still unable to look at them as he mumbles that he’d like,  _ uh, a hamburger and fries, pl-please _ . She nods and puts the aforementioned items on a plate, passing it over the partition. 

 

Evan picks at his thumbnail and glances at Eric, who smiles and puts the plate on the maroon tray he’d picked up at the door. He reaches for a smaller plate sitting to the side on which there is a small slice of chocolate cake wrapped in Saran Wrap, pausing with his hand hovering over it.

 

“Want any dessert, Evan?”

 

Evan smiles nervously and nods, because the cake looks good, and he hasn’t had chocolate in a while, which kind of sucks because he really likes chocolate, but his mom just hasn’t bought anything chocolate in a while, is all.

 

( _ God _ , he’s rambling about not having chocolate in his head.  _ What the fuck _ .)

 

There’s a soda machine like those you might find in a fast food restaurant, and Evan grabs one of the plastic cups next to it, staring warily at the choices offered before he decides on Coke. Letting the now-full cup of soda sit on the grate below the soda dispensers, he grabs a lid and pushes it onto the cup awkwardly, feeling his stomach twist anxiously as he struggles to secure it.

 

Once his battle with the lid has been won, Evan scurries over to the small, round table that the others are sitting at, Eric following close behind.

 

Litzy is devouring her food with a vengeance, while Alana and Nimh are talking between forkfuls of salad. The latter two look up at Evan as he sits down, and Nimh gives him a lazy two-fingered salute, leaning back a bit as Eric passes Evan his tray. Evan gives an awkward wave in response.

 

“So anyway,” Nimh says, words muffled by a mouthful of food, which he swallows as soon as he realises how difficult it makes it to understand him, “there’s this, like, crazy theory that Avril Lavigne -- the singer, y’know? -- there’s this theory that she died in 2003 and got replaced by a clone.”

 

Alana scoffs. “That’s ridiculous.”

 

Nimh shakes his head, hair falling into his eyes. “No! ‘Cause, like, it makes  _ perfect sense _ , when you look at the evidence.”

 

Alana’s nose wrinkles and she shakes her own head, though significantly less forcefully than Nimh did. “I’m almost afraid to ask…”

 

Apparently, Nimh takes this as an invitation to explain, because he launches into a rather animated explanation on why, exactly, Avril Lavigne was absolutely dead and had been replaced by a lookalike named Melissa. The situation is so ridiculous, Evan almost forgets to be self conscious about eating in front of people. (Almost.)

 

By the time Nimh is done talking (which actually takes quite a while, since he goes off on several tangents about 2005 emos, fashion, and facial reconstruction surgery), there’s still about five minutes left until it’s time to return to the unit. 

 

Somehow, the four teens end up migrating over to the modest piano on the other side of the room.

 

Nimh and Litzy play a surprisingly well-done duet of the Harry Potter theme, and then Litzy plays ‘All-Star’ and Nimh sings, but instead of singing the whole song, he just says, “They don’t stop comin’ and they don’t stop comin’” over and over to the tune of the song. Alana tells them to stop about halfway through, attempting a stern tone, but she’s unable to hold back a smile.

 

When Eric announces that it’s time to head back up, the group stands in tandem and moves to throw out their trash and put their dishes away. Evan is weighing the pros and cons of attempting to take care of his things on his own, but before he can attempt it, Alana stacks his dishes and tray with her own, giving him a friendly smile.

 

“Th-thanks,” Evan says, returning her smile with one of his own, and he admits to himself that he’s a little proud, because it’s not shaky in the least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> again, im so sorry about the wait. i'll try not to wait two months until the next update...
> 
> also, the quality of this one is a little questionable, since a good deal of it was written while i was sick, so i apologise for that, but i don't have the time nor the motivation to rewrite it. hope you all don't hold it against me ^^;;
> 
> i'll try to have the next one out in about a week!

**Author's Note:**

> first chapter is short, so i apologise for that, but im skimming over a majority of the hospital visit since ive never broken a bone and i also dont feel comfortable writing it;; ending the chapter here was the only way i could think to transition it lol,,


End file.
